Skyscraper
by Crowdreamer
Summary: As Scully recovers from being the sole survivor at the site of a mass murder of people suspected of being alien abductees (The Red and the Black), she tries to recover emotionally with Mulder's help, only to begin to question his feelings towards her, as well as his loyalty.
1. Chapter 1

_Setting: Season Five, just after the dramatic events in "The Red and the Black," but before the ending of the same episode. Go back and watch the epi if you don't remember, because it's too complicated to explain. _

_Type of story: MSR, Angst, AU, because Diana Fowley was not around yet, and some of the other details have been altered. Nothing major, though._

_Author's notes: Okay, I've been feeling tortured lately, so I had to take it out on Scully. If it's not obvious, the second part of this chapter happens before the first part (in the hospital room before Mulder shows up). Again, a review of the epi would be helpful. The story is named after the song by the same name, by Demi Lovato. _

**Skyscraper**

**Chapter One**

Part 1.

The flashbacks began the night after the hypnosis session. Scores of hands reaching to the sky, specks of ashes caught in her hair. Cassandra being lifted by a beam of light into a waiting…ship? Maybe she was wrong—maybe it was really an aircraft. It made no sense, any of it.

The one constant was Mulder, although he had begun to question his own version of the story. Lately he thought it was all a government plot. How can you believe your own eyes when the scenery changes so much?

Mulder no longer believed any of it was real. But she knew what she experienced was real. She could feel the weight of it-the terror from men with no eyes and human beings bursting into flames—in her chest. The incident was gone, along with the memories, but the sensations of it still raged within her.

At least Mulder had not given up on her, though. He was the first person she saw when she woke up in shock, and the lines on his face weighed heavy and deep. He helped build her back up with his gentle concern.

Skinner had just finished admonishing them in his office, telling them they needed to come up with some explanation for Scully's hypnosis session. She didn't want to think of the most obvious scenario that Skinner had proposed, and she knew Mulder rejected it outright. He changed the subject on the way to their office. "How are you doing, Scully?"

She rolled her eyes away from him and towards the wall. "I'm fine, Mulder."

He stopped, grabbed her arm, and turned her to face him. "No, really, how are you?" Her chest tightened, but she said nothing, and refused to look him in the eyes for fear that her solid exterior might crumble. "No matter what happened to you, Scully, one thing is for sure. You went through something pretty traumatic."

She pursed her lips and dropped her head. "Like I said, I'm fine. Like I told Skinner, I don't remember any of it." _Except for the body memories_, she failed to say.

He dropped it then. But she felt a boost to her psyche from his attention to her well-being, as if the image she had of herself was being rebuilt from the ground up, and Mulder was the foreman. Having one person in the world who respected her and believed in her really boosted her confidence.

Part 2.

The wrinkled face looked down on the red-haired woman still unconscious in the hospital bed. He stifled a cough as he dialed the phone. He knew Mulder would be here any minute, so he would have to make this quick.

"Yeah, I have her right here."

He paced with a cigarette in the other hand while listening to the voice on the other line. "They left her, just like we asked. She's in good shape."

He peeked his head out the doorway to see if anyone was coming, then dropped the cigarette under his foot and squashed it. "Yes, I believe we can proceed to the next step. If this goes well, and the rebels are stopped, we will have something to offer them to get in their good graces. A new weapon, so to speak."

He hung up and stared at Scully's burnt face for a moment, wishing that he could just have her for one night. But he knew there would probably be nothing left of her, psychologically anyway, when they were done with her.

Part 3.

Scully almost felt like herself again. She strode down the hallway towards Mulder's office, wondering how they were going to resolve the mystery of what she was doing at the site of the largest "mass suicide" in recent history. And then she tried to come up with a rational explanation for how a group of people could incinerate themselves within a few minutes, some of them charred beyond recognition. And how she ended up with only a few minor burns to her hands and face.

As she turned the corner, she caught a glimpse of something completely unexpected—Mulder's lips locked on those of a leggy brunette who she didn't recognize. Disappearing back into the hallway before the couple noticed her, Scully's chest heaved as she pressed her body against the wall. She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths.

Mulder was kissing somebody. Scully felt as if an explosion of breaking glass was clanging in her head.


	2. Chapter 2

**Skyscraper**

**Chapter Two**

Part 1.

In the bathroom, Scully hoped nobody would come in while she splashed her face so that she could pretend that she wasn't falling apart. _I am strong_, she told herself. _I can handle this._

She was proud of herself when she made it all the way to her office without thinking about Mulder and "the kiss". She did not expect him to be there yet, so she flinched when she opened the door and saw a male figure step out into the light. It only took a second to realize that it was Jeffrey Spender.

It was hard to concentrate on the conversation that followed. Something about Mulder "leading" her into believing that her memories were of an alien abduction. She hadn't believed it outright anyway—she always tended to err on the side of rational explanations, rather than sensory input. She knew experiences could be manipulated, and sometimes just downright wrong.

She prepared herself to admit to Mulder that her memories were probably wrong—that it may have been a government cover-up, after all. But Spender's next words gave her a shock. "He has more than misled you, Agent Scully," he said. "He's working with them."

"With who?" she said, her forehead crinkling. A jolt of electricity shot down her arms. She did not flinch, although she thought it odd that the conversation would cause that strong of a reaction in her.

Spender looked away for a second. "He's part of the conspiracy."

She folded her arms. "Agent Spender, I suggest you leave this office right now if you're going to make baseless accusations like that."

He bent over the desk and opened a suitcase. "I knew you wouldn't believe me. That's why I brought proof."

He pulled out a picture and handed it to Scully. In it, Mulder was shaking hands with the cancer-stick man, and the woman Scully had seen in the hall with Mulder was standing next to him, hand on his arm, smiling.

Scully puckered her lips. "Who is this woman?" she asked.

"Diana Fowley. She's working with _him_," Spender said, and Scully knew who he was talking about. A chill shot down her spine, but it was different from the charge she felt earlier in her arms. "They are involved with the Syndicate, a group of men responsible for my mother's abduction. I took this picture this morning, after following Agent Mulder."

Scully handed the picture back. "This doesn't prove anything, Agent Spender." She refused to meet his eyes. "Now, I suggest you leave. I've had enough of this nonsense."

He did as she asked without saying a word. She had chased him away, but not the questions he had left in her mind. What if there was some truth to it? Why would Mulder be meeting with the cigarette-smoking man, and why would he not tell her about that meeting?

She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and allow him to answer some of the questions she had. He had pulled things behind her back before, but never had he betrayed her, and she didn't believe he would start now.

Part 2.

She didn't have to track Mulder down—he came into the office soon after Jeffrey Spender left. Unable to contain herself, she addressed him immediately. She tried to keep her tone even and free from any signs of alarm. "Mulder, have you . . . had any unusual meetings lately without me?"

Mulder's brows knitted together. "What do you mean? With who?"

"Diana Fowley."

Scully's chest tightened as she waited for the answer. If Mulder was alarmed by the question, he did not betray it to her. "That's a name I haven't heard in a while. How did you hear about her?"

Scully pressed her lips together tightly before answering. "So it's true—you did meet with her."

Mulder's hands flew up in front of him. "No! Where are you getting this, Scully?"

She stood there for a moment, looking at his face for any signs of deception. He looked innocent enough, but she couldn't discount her own experience. "I saw you with her, Mulder."

"What? When?"

"Does it matter?" Her voice was louder. "What about that guy who smokes all the time? Have you met with him?"

Mulder scoffed. "Are you kidding me, Scully?"

"Answer the question, Mulder." She was practically yelling now. It was one thing for him to talk to questionable people behind her back, and quite another for him to out-and-out lie about it when confronted.

Mulder rubbed his face. "Look, Scully, I don't know what you've seen, or think you've seen, or what you've heard, but I have not done any of the things you're talking about." He held out open palms. "If I did, don't you think I would have told you?"

Scully could feel her nostrils flaring as she huffed at his response. "No, you look, Mulder," she said in a controlled tone. "I have followed you all this time, for the sole reason that I _thought_ you were the only person I could trust. But if you aren't going to be honest with me—"

"I _am _being honest, Scully. I have told you nothing but the truth."

She looked up at a corner of the room, trying to fight back tears as she said the next words. "Well then I guess what you've said all along is true—trust no one."

Mulder pursed his lips. "Fine. Don't believe me. But you're going to be sorry when you lose the one person you _can _trust."

With that, he turned and stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him. Scully put one hand up to her face and did what she had been trying not to do this whole time—unleash the waterfall of emotions dammed up within her.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Author's comments: **__I wanted to do a Mulder POV right about now, but that would give too much away, so you'll have to wait—sorry! I will get into one later in the story._

_ I also wanted to warn everyone that I did a lot of research into the story arc about this time in the series, because I wanted to be true to the story and not create too much of an AU feel about it. BUT, having said that, there may be some plot holes that I am unaware of, so please don't hate on me for not remembering every detail. This is the time in the series when things get real complicated, and it's hard for my ADD brain to keep track sometimes._

**Skyscraper**

**Chapter Three**

Part 1.

At home, Scully kept thinking about everything she had seen and heard, and tried to make sense of it all. She wanted to believe Mulder, but how could she when all the evidence was stacked against him?

It was possible that Jeffrey Spender was lying. But what incentive would he have to lie? And it seemed like too big of a coincidence that she saw Mulder with Diana Fowley the very same day that Spender took the picture of them together. Even if the picture was wrong, what reason would Mulder have to be together with her in the hall, all buddy-buddy, and why wouldn't he tell Scully about her?

Jealousy. Mulder must have known Scully would be jealous, and he wouldn't want to hurt her. But why would the two of them meet with the cigarette-smoking man? And the bigger question remained—if she couldn't trust Mulder, who could she trust?

All of it made Scully's head hurt, and she rubbed her temples. She still felt weak, and she had to remind herself that it had only been a few days since she got released from the hospital for vasogenic shock.

And then she remembered the pain pills the doctor had prescribed for her, and she dug in her purse for them. Normally, she was not the type to medicate herself, but her head was killing her.

An hour later, after spending the entire time wracking her brain trying to figure out Mulder and his motives, Scully began to feel lighter and expansive, and she slipped into a dreamless, peaceful sleep, forgetting all about the horrendous day she just had.

Part 2.

A knock on the door woke her, and she saw 3:38 on the clock before she shook off her sleep and went to the door. Mulder appeared at the keyhole, eyes sunken and lips turned down. "Come in," she mumbled to him as she opened the door, but he was already past her.

Pacing, he said, "Where did you get your information from, Scully? Because you're being misled."

She sat down on the couch and tucked her hands in between her knees. "A reliable source. And my own eyes."

This only seemed to agitate him more. "I don't know what you think you saw, Scully, but it's wrong."

She looked up to see him glaring at her. "So you're saying I _didn't _see you kissing Diana Fowley today."

"What? No! I haven't even seen her at all in . . . in so long that I can't remember—"

Scully stood abruptly. "That's bullshit, Mulder. Photographs can be doctored, but I know what I saw with my own eyes."

Mulder began to pace again, and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. The ringing of his phone interrupted his train of thought, and he pulled it from his pocket. Glancing down at it, he quickly silenced it.

"Who was it, Mulder?"

"I don't remember reciting wedding vows with you, Scully."

They glared at one another until Mulder finally caved and looked past her. He did a little jig with his feet and said, "I've been holding it too long. Excuse me."

If she wasn't so pissed off, she would have laughed. But instead, she watched him leave the room while he tried to put his phone in his pocket and missed, dropping it on the floor without noticing. She waited for him to close the bathroom door, and then scrambled to pick up his phone.

She fumbled while trying to figure out which button to push to check for missed calls. "Bingo," she whispered, and then repeated the number at the top of the screen until she had it memorized. She plopped the phone back where it had fallen, and when Mulder came out of the restroom, she said, "You dropped your phone," and pointed to where it lay.

"Scully, I don't know what else to say to make you believe me," he said, tucking the phone back into his pocket. "Except, you can't always trust what seems like reality. You know that, from past experience."

She knew what he was talking about. There had been times when both of them had been deceived by things they had seen. Lips pursed, she said, "I know that, Mulder. I'm trying to have an open mind. But you need to be completely honest with me."

"I don't know how to convince you that I am."

They stared into each other's eyes, hoping to find the truth there, or at least some understanding. Mulder broke the gaze once again, and turned to leave without saying another word.

Scully collapsed into a chair, feeling heavy from the lack of resolution.

Part 3.

Squinty eyes looked up through a haze of smoke at the window of the apartment building. He couldn't see inside, but he knew what had just transpired when he saw a disturbed-looking Mulder heading towards his car. He pushed a button and spoke into his phone. "Yeah. The next phase of the plan has begun. It's working just how I thought it would. Shouldn't take much longer now."


	4. Chapter 4

_**Author's comments: **__Sorry everyone, didn't realize my line breaks weren't showing up. I am re-submitting each chapter with "parts" instead so that it's more readable._

_With regards to the story—let's just say that__** i**__t's about to get real. _

**Skyscraper**

**Chapter Four**

Part 1.

Scully despised lack of sleep—it made her feel frumpy. As she walked through the metal detector at work, she felt a charge run through her arms, only this time she felt it radiate all the way down from her spine. _I'm too tired to care_, she thought, as she stifled a yawn. _Too tired to care about anything._

She hunted down Jeffrey Spender. Showing him the phone number she had jotted down from Mulder's phone, she said, "Do you recognize this number? I tried to run it through the system last night, but I can't find an owner."

Spender's eyes widened when he saw the number. Looking up at her, he said, "Yeah, I know it."

"Well? Who is it?"

Their eyes locked. "I think you know."

"It's not her, is it?"

"No."

"Cancer Man."

"Bingo."

Without waiting to answer any of his unasked questions, she swept her way out the door, her mission clear.

The receptionist outside Skinner's office tried to stop her. "He's in a meeting, Agent Scully." But her words fell on deaf ears as Scully opened wide the door.

Mulder and Skinner stood facing each other. Both of them looked at her like small creatures caught in the headlights. Nobody else was present in the room, but the smell of smoke thickened the air.

"Oh, sorry, didn't realize you were—"

Without finishing her sentence, she turned and walked out. She expected that Mulder would follow her, stop her with his words, but he didn't.

Part 2.

Now she knew. She knew they were in secret discussions—Mulder and the Cigarette-Smoking Man—but she had to know more. She found it hard to believe that Mulder would do anything like this without good reason (or Skinner, for that matter). Maybe he was undercover, trying to flush out more information about her recent ordeal at the Ruskin Dam, and he couldn't tell her until he had succeeded. But she needed to know.

She followed him. She had to be extra careful, because he would suspect her of resorting to such a thing.

He went straight home after work, carrying a file folder under his arm. The cigarette man came into his building shortly after. And then they left together, side by side, Mulder laughing at something the man said. Scully growled in the safety of her car.

She doubted that he would make it easy for her to snoop, which is why she was pleasantly surprised when her key still worked in his lock. Looking around to make sure this was not a trap—that he wasn't coming right back—she entered the apartment silently and scanned it for anything she had not seen before.

The most apparent item in the room was a manila folder sitting on his coffee table. Picking it up, she saw that the label read "D.K. Scully." Her heart sank when she opened it and saw her own medical records, going back several years, contained within it.

Flipping through the stack of papers, her eyes were drawn to a small plastic baggie that contained a tiny metal object. It had no label, but Scully was pretty sure she knew what it was. She ripped it out of the file and gave a cursory glance around the apartment to see if she could spot anything else. Seeing nothing of interest, she chose to leave before the two men had a chance to return.

Part 3.

Feeling beaten down and broken, Scully returned to her apartment to obsess over her latest findings. Just inside her door, she found a manila envelope on the floor that someone had obviously slipped underneath. Picking it up, she read the name "J. Spender" handwritten on the outside.

She sighed deeply and opened the envelope with shaking hands. The contents slid out, some of them falling onto the floor. She managed to catch one glossy item in her hand, and she dropped the envelope and covered her mouth when she saw what the photograph portrayed.

She gasped despite herself, letting the photo slip out of her hand. The picture of a naked Mulder lying on top of an equally nude Diana sat where it had fallen, mocking her until she turned her head away from it.

Part 4.

Thoughts escaped Scully. She didn't want them, really, because none of them would be pleasant right about now. A knock on the door interrupted her numbness. She debated ignoring it, but decided to drag herself out of her stupor and open it.

Seeing Jeffrey Spender made her nostrils flare. He was barely in the door before she started in on him. "Why are you doing this?"

"I just want you to know who you're working with."

"Why do you care?" she said, her voice even more forceful this time.

He put his hands out in front of him, palms towards her in stop signs. "Look, Agent Scully, I just want to find my mom. I thought you might help me if you knew which way to start looking."

She huffed, and then looked away in contemplation. "Why didn't you just bring those to me," she said, pointing to the pictures spread out on the floor while trying not to look at them. "You could have warned me."

"I didn't think you'd believe me unless you saw for yourself. And this was the one way I knew you'd look."

She half-turned away from him, ready to sink down into a chair in exhaustion but suddenly unable to propel herself forward.

"Please hear me out, Agent Scully. I dug through old e-mails today, expecting to find some between Diana Fowley and the cigarette-smoking bastard. I found these instead." He dug out a fistful of papers and held them out for Scully to take.

But she did not lift her hand to take them, so he continued. "They're e-mails between him and Mulder, going back four years. _Four years_, Agent Scully."

She found her head involuntarily swinging towards the papers. Snatching the top of the pile from him, she examined the e-mail addresses closely. The sender was Mulder, but she did not recognize the recipient. "How do you know it's him?" she said, her voice flat.

"I just know—" He shook his head, and she detected sadness in his voice as he said, "Just trust me, I know him well."

Now she looked at the body of the e-mail, noticing that it was from 1994. It read, "DKS implant successful. Medical records attached."

Scully felt as if she could not breathe, and she backed into a chair and fell into it, her legs caving in on her. Snow piled up outside the window like ashes. Some hit the window and melted away, rolling down the window in big, fat drops.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Author's comments: **__This one is dedicated to Virginia Woolf—I just saw "The Hours" the other day and I loved it. _

**Skyscraper**

**Chapter Four**

Part 1.

Her destruction began with visions of impossible lights peering through a giant steel "X" just before the people around her became incinerated by breaths of flame from faceless men. Her implosion was complete after she discovered the unthinkable betrayal by the one man who had built her up to begin with.

Scully lay in bed and tried to remember what it had felt like between them, before she knew what she knew now—the gleam in his eyes, the way he turned to face her during elevator rides, the smell of him when she gave in to an embrace after an emotional case. All rubble now. All make-believe moments when he had really been laughing at her naiveté.

Scully sat up and stared at the small baggie in her hand that contained the chip, the one she had found in Mulder's secret file. How could he so callously pretend that he cared, that he was on her side, while simultaneously working on putting this thing in her? It was the ultimate violation.

She would probably have to move to a hotel room now. She no longer felt safe in her own home, although she wasn't sure she cared too much about her safety any more. What did it matter, when her life had no more meaning?

What purpose had she served the last few years, if she had not really been helping Mulder find the truth? Instead, she was being duped, blindly following him while he schemed behind her back. She sighed, and rubbed her neck to try and smooth out the tingly feeling between her shoulder blades. It was steady now, and persistent. Then she remembered the pills in her purse, and she dug them out.

Her eyes glazed in the direction of the bottle in her hand. The glimpse of a thought passed through her mind, and then returned. It became an obsession—she kept tossing out the idea, but it clung to her just like the buzzing in her back.

She decided to indulge it. Why did her life matter anymore? Who would really miss her? How could she ever possibly feel any real joy again? Even if she recovered from the traumatic experience of witnessing hundreds of scorching bodies, and then somehow got over Mulder and the bogus relationship she had invested so much of herself into, she would never fully be able to trust anyone again.

And without trusting relationships, what was left? There was nothing for her. No motivation to get out of bed in the morning. She might as well give it all up and start over right now. She reluctantly dragged herself out of her bed and over to the kitchen. She opened up the cabinet door and stood, eyeing the bottle of rum in front of her with bleary eyes.

She carried the bottle to the kitchen table, and set the bottle of pills next to it. She closed her eyes and tried to come up with reasons to stop herself, but her mind drew a blank. She poured a handful of pills straight into her mouth, and followed them up with a swig of rum, without bothering with a glass. She swished the concoction around in her mouth like mouthwash. When it slid down her throat, she almost coughed the whole thing out, unable to handle so many at once.

Regardless, she took another swig of pills right away, followed by the rum chaser, and repeated the process until the pill bottle was empty. Then she kept hitting the rum bottle until her head began to spin. _I can't believe I don't feel a damn thing_, she thought. _This will be easier than I thought._

She stumbled into the bathroom and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, and then decided to take a closer look. In her reflection, it was as if a corpse stared back at her. _I'm dead already_, she thought.

Fighting her heavy head, she washed her hands and face, and shuffled back to the bed to lie down. Nausea consumed her, and she could hear her own heart pounding in her ears. She walked herself through the process of her body shutting down—her respiratory system would relax so much that her lungs would stop working, and she would fall asleep and never wake up. Knowing this, she allowed the weight of her eyelids to pull them shut one last time, and tried not to think about the discovery of her body.

Part 2.

Mulder reached the door to Scully's apartment and paused. He looked down at the floor, and after a moment of contemplation, raised his hand and gave a solid knock. Sighing, he looked around while giving her time to open it. Knowing she was there, he tried to decide whether to give her privacy and leave, or keep persisting.

But he was a persistent person, and she would know it was him if he kept on. He knocked again. He blew air through his lips, and ran a hand down the back of his head.

He checked his watch. Three minutes he had been here. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, and pushed her number on speed-dial. It went to voicemail. He hung up without leaving a message.

His steps echoed down the hallway as he paced outside her door. He almost headed back to the elevator. Instead, he fingered the keys in his pocket.

Finally, he pulled them out and fumbled with them until finding the right one. He waited one final second before turning the key in the lock, to give her time to get to the door if she heard someone trying to get in.

But when he opened the door, she was not standing there, shocked. His heart began to beat a little faster, and his palms became wet with sweat. He stood there for a minute, afraid she would wake up and discover that he had let himself in. _I'll just check to make sure she's okay, _he thought.

His feet made no noise as he padded over to her bedroom. Hoping that the door would not creak, he nudged it with his hand just enough to open it. He let out a silent sigh as he realized he was right—she was asleep.

But something kept him from creeping back out the door. It was just a hunch, a hair-raised feeling on his arms. But whatever it was, it compelled him to move forward instead of sneaking back out the way he had come in.

He approached cautiously until he was standing over her. There were cues that something was not the way it should be—the lamp on the nightstand turned left on, her lying there in her work clothes…something just didn't make sense.

He took a deep breath and leaned forward, touching her on her arm, and got no response. "Scully?" he said, voice cracking. He grabbed her arm this time, forcefully, and began to shake her. "Scully!" he said, voice louder now.

She did not move, and he could feel that she was cold. Too cold. "Scully?" he said, his voice rising into a question. He felt her face, and it was cold as well. On auto-pilot now, he shook her, probably a little too hard.

"Scully, wake up," he said in desperation. He put two fingers up to her neck. "Oh, God," he said, putting his hand over his mouth, tears flowing freely now. "Oh, God, Scully, no."


	6. Chapter 6

_**Author's comments:**_

**Skyscraper**

**Chapter Six**

Part 1.

Mulder got into high gear to move Scully's limp body off the bed and onto the floor so he could try to resuscitate her. A sound from the living room interrupted his actions, and he looked up to see two men in white uniforms racing towards them. "Excuse me, Sir," said one. "Paramedics."

Moving out of the way, Mulder said, "I didn't call anyone yet . . ."

"It's okay, Sir," said the second man, brushing past him. "Is she responsive?"

"No, and no pulse," said the first.

They moved quickly, starting with chest compressions and moving to the shock paddles while Mulder held his breath and clasped one hand tightly over his mouth.

A few seconds after the first time they shocked her, the dead silence in the room was interrupted by the first paramedic. "I got a weak pulse."

Mulder breathed out five minutes worth of air. "Is she going to be okay?" he asked, trying to push his way past them and to her side.

"We need to get her to the hospital—right now. Please, Sir . . ."

They muscled him out of the way and her onto a stretcher, and they were out the door with her in seconds, without any time for questions from him. He tried to follow them, and he got as far as the elevator, but the doors began to close before he could shove his way in. Before they closed, however, he noticed movement, and looked down by Scully's hand to see something drop out of it and bounce out onto the hallway floor, unnoticed by the paramedics.

After the elevator was completely closed, he knelt down and picked up the item, a tiny plastic baggie containing a small metallic square. He held it up and looked through the baggie, cogs turning in his mind.

Back in Scully's apartment, Mulder covered his face with both hands and tried to hold himself together. He wiped away a tear and scanned the room for signs of a struggle or anything out of the ordinary, and caught a glimpse of something on the kitchen table. A bottle of rum, empty except for a finger-width of liquor at the bottom, sat next to a pill bottle. He picked up the pill bottle and shook it, and his chest clenched when no sound of rattling pills came from it. He read the label on the bottle, and now he knew what had happened to Scully. But he still did not know why.

After searching the rest of her apartment and finding nothing, Mulder trotted down to his car. As he was about to get in, he froze when he saw a chilling sight—across the street stood the smoking man, puffing away, his eyes squinted as he glared in Mulder's direction.

Part 2.

Mulder was too worried about Scully to take on the cigarette-smoking fiend. At the hospital now, he found her intensive care room and started to go in, but his efforts were thwarted by a goon much taller than him. "She can't have visitors," said the orderly, and Mulder had to wonder whether the guy really worked here.

Mulder backed out and noticed there was a window into the room, and the blinds had not been drawn. He peeked in and saw her lying, unconscious, with a breathing tube in her mouth and her hands in restraints. Spotting a nurse about to go into her room, he grabbed her arm to get her attention and said, "Excuse me, but are the restraints really necessary?"

The nurse eyed him and said, "And who are you? A family member?"

"Uh . . . yeah," he said.

"Well, Sir, she has attempted to hurt herself, so yes, they are necessary."

Mulder shifted his feet. "Can you tell me—is she going to be okay?"

"I think you better wait and talk to the doctor, Sir."

With that, she pulled away from him and rushed into the room. Mulder rubbed the back of his neck and tried to figure out how things had gotten to this point. Scully had started in with the accusations against him, and he had no idea where she had gotten the ideas from. He had not seen Diana Fowley in years.

Then Scully stopped talking to him altogether, not even to allow him to defend himself. It was torture to watch her slip away from him, and not even know why. He couldn't help but feel that Cancer Man had reached her somehow, although he didn't think she would buy into anything the creep would have said to her.

Mulder had been on his way to talk to her one last time, to try and convince her to talk to him, to hear him out. But he had found her . . . like that. He tried not to choke up—it was the second time in recent days that he thought he had lost her.

Now he saw a doctor about to go into her room, and he knew he could not let this opportunity pass. "Doctor," he said, catching the man's eye. "I'm her . . . partner. Is she going to be okay?"

The doctor's voice was gentler than the nurse's had been. "She's suffered from a severe overdose. I think we caught it in time, but there's no telling yet if she's had any brain damage. When she wakes up we'll know more." Mulder looked towards her room, even though he could not see her from here.

As an afterthought, the doctor said, "When she does wake up, we'll have to place her on a 72-hour hold at the Baker Center, of course."

The Baker Center. Mulder knew this was a hospital for people with mental illness. And he knew she would be humiliated at being sent there. But there probably was no other alternative—she needed help. In the meantime, he could do whatever he needed to from his end.


	7. Chapter 7

_Author's comments: Just when you thought Scully has gone through enough…it's just getting started. Mwah ha ha! _

_Seriously, though, you all have no idea the research I had to do into TXF story arc to make this right. Sigh. It's a rough life, lol._

_ I also wanted to point out that I repeated themes here from the first XF story I ever wrote. I realize that. I just had a sudden desire to delve deeper into those themes, and I have a different angle this time too. So pardon the redundancies, please. _

**Skyscraper**

**Chapter Six**

Part 1.

Mulder sat outside Scully's hospital room for hours on end, making phone calls. He was unaware of the passage of time, all he knew was that she was in there, and he was out here, and until he knew she was going to make it, he was not leaving. The nurse stubbornly kept him from entering her room, merely saying that she was not allowed visitors "at this time." The doctor was similarly vague, and refused to override the nurse's orders.

Mulder slept on a bench outside her room. Sometime the following morning, the doctor provided an update to Mulder. "She's awake, and it appears that she has no detectable brain damage."

Mulder brightened. "Can I go in now?"

"No, I'm sorry, she still can't have any visitors."

Mulder shot a glance towards the window of her room. Someone had closed the blinds. "Well, when _can_ I see her?"

"I'm sorry, Sir," said the doctor, looking away. "She's going straight into the Baker Center when she's well enough. You'll have to talk to the staff there about visitation. Until then, I'm afraid it's out of the question."

"But why?" Mulder had not meant to sound so whiny, but he was growing impatient.

The doctor merely shook his head and brushed past Mulder, into Scully's room. Mulder's first impulse was to stop the guy, but he held back, and then punched the wall instead. The pain in his fist took his mind off his anger.

Resigned, he decided to leave the hospital and conduct a more thorough investigation. As he drove, his chest tightened as he thought about Scully's condition. It broke his heart to know that she would stoop to such dark place that she would try to take her own life. And the worst part was that he had no idea why. Why would she suddenly question his loyalty to her, and did her suspicions have anything to do with her emotional demise? He bit his lip as he realized that he may have to wait a while to find out.

At a dumpy-looking apartment building, he walked down a dark hallway and knocked on an even darker door. After a few seconds of what he knew was scrutiny through the peephole, the door opened, and Frohike greeted him, his face stricken. "How is she?" he asked.

"I don't know, I can't get a good answer," said Mulder. Frohicke looked down and opened the door wider to let Mulder in.

"If she recovers fine, she'll be staying at the Baker Center," Mulder said as he entered the apartment to find that Langly and Byers had made it there too.

"The Baker Center?" said Langly, his eyes narrowing. "That's where they disappear people."

Mulder half-smirked at the conspiracy theory. Byers noticed Mulder's reaction and chimed in. "He's right, Mulder. That's not a place for the faint of heart. It's a place where they send people who have a serious beef with the government. Dissidents and so-called terrorists. They throw in a few hard-core mental patients to justify the center's existence, but I knew a guy who was sent there for a while. They got away with performing horrible procedures on him, if you can call them that. He said it was more like torture."

Mulder furrowed his brow and frowned, trying to put horrifying images out of his mind. He sighed, knowing he would have to worry about getting her out of there later. Right now he had to take care of other business.

The three geeks eagerly fingered the item Mulder placed in front of them—the tiny metal square in the clear plastic baggie, the one that had fallen from Scully's fingers.

"What is this?" asked Byers.  
"I don't know," said Mulder. "That's what I was hoping you could tell me. It looks a lot like-"

"A computer chip," Langly said. "And I just happen to have an electron microscope that I saved up for with years and years of Christmas money."

"Can you tell what it is with that?" Mulder asked.

"It will take a day or two, and I'm not sure what kind of information I can gain from it, but I'll do my best."

"If it will help Scully, we'll do everything we can, big guy," Frohicke said, patting Mulder on the arm.

Part 2.

She wasn't dead, but she felt like it on the inside. A hollow, carved-out space resided in the spot where her heart should be, and she was sure it would never return. Her brain had not sustained any permanent damage, and that was a good thing, they said. After a couple of days, she discovered that her liver was not sustained any lasting injuries, and that was also a good thing, they said.

_Good for who? _she thought. _My heart will never be the same, and my life is gone._

The physical pain hardly mattered, although the nausea was hard to take. It was several days before she could sit up without feeling like she had to hurl.

She was not surprised when the doctor told her she would be transferred to a psych ward. She heard every other word of what he said until he said, "The Baker Center".

She shifted in the bed. "The Baker Center?" She knew people who had worked there. "That's a hard-core facility."

The doctor patted her hand. "You'll be well taken-care-of there, Miss Scully." He smiled and left before she had time to think of specific reasons to protest.

As soon as he stepped out of the room, all the reasons came to her. This was not a place where attempted suicide patients and people with bouts of depression were sent. This was a maximum-security lock-down facility run by the government. Her body tensed as she thought, _'Why are they sending me there?'_


	8. Chapter 8

_Author's comments: This chapter dedicated to Autism Awareness Month. _

**Skyscraper**

**Chapter Seven**

Part 1.

Scully's head pounded. "Miss Scully?" the social worker said, in a room that reminded Scully of Mulder's office, only smaller, with no UFO posters anywhere. Instead, the walls were covered with letters, papers, and post-it notes, like the office of a person with OCD. Scully stared straight ahead, not wanting to make eye contact. "I'll rephrase the question. You've sought out treatment for your mental health before, right?"

Scully sighed. "I saw a counselor once, for a case that was bothering me."

"And you've recently seen a hypnotist, and in the past too?" Scully's eyes snapped towards the social worker, a wrinkled blonde who scribbled in her notepad without looking up. "Miss . . . Snyder, is it?"

Ms. Snyder paused for a moment, and then continued writing. "Yes."

Scully looked away again. "Yes. Yes I did." She had no desire to delve into her own personal history right now.

"Who did you see?"

Scully opened her mouth to speak, and then closed it. Speaking slowly, she said, "I'm surprised that you have access to such confidential information, Miss Snyder. I'm sure if you already know this much about me, you already know the answer to that question."

Ms. Snyder said nothing, and instead finished her scribbling. "You will see me every day, Miss Scully. The sooner you learn to open up to me, the better you will feel." With that, Ms. Snyder stood up and stared at Scully until she stood to leave.

Part 2.

A male staff member called "Skippy" escorted Scully to her room, a drab hole with three beds and nothing on the walls. Skippy plopped Scully's hospital gown and a folded sheet on top of a plain twin mattress resting on a metal frame. A thin, short-haired brunette with stiff movements, probably not much more than a teenager, brushed past Scully and Skippy and stopped to cast her gaze on Scully's belongings. "Say hello to your new roommate, April," said Skippy.

April did not look at Scully, but said, "What are her skanky things doing on _my bed_?" Then she walked rigidly to the middle of the room, where she sat on the floor and began to make sweeping motions with her arms. She mumbled softly to nobody in particular, ignoring everyone else in the room.

Scully thought about the possibility of finishing what she started. "Which one can I have then?" she asked Skippy in a flat voice.

"You can—" He looked at the door, where a short, plump woman in her early 20's stood. "Misty, this is your new housemate."

Misty held out her hand and said, too enthusiastically, "Oh hi! I'm Misty. What is your name?" Misty's r's sounded like w's.

Scully held out her hand. At least one of her roommates was sociable. "Scu—" Scully paused. She wanted to distance herself from her past as much as possible. "Dana. I'm Dana."

Misty looked up and to the right when talking, and she never made eye contact. "Dana. That starts with a D!"

Scully tried to fake a smile, and then realized it wouldn't make much of a difference. "Yes. Yes it does."

From the floor, April said, "What do you mean no? Okay, then." She continued talking to nobody in particular, pulling at what looked like invisible cobwebs in mid-air.

"D-d-d-word-name," Misty said.

"Dana."

"Dana. I'm getting ready for bed," Misty said cheerfully. She sat down on a bed and began to rock front to back in a rhythmic motion.

Scully looked up at Skippy. "Already? It's only 7:30."

"Bedtime's at 8," Skippy said before throwing her things on a different bed.

Scully lay awake for hours on the springy mattress. She couldn't understand how anyone could sleep on this thing. She wished she could, because she didn't want to face her own obsessive thoughts. She had several medications prescribed to her, but disgustingly, none of them helped put her to sleep.

Her thoughts vacillated between '_What have I done?' _and '_How can I finish the job?'_ She was not one to cave to such heavy emotions so quickly. She had stayed strong even through her long bout with cancer, and yet this time she had succumbed to depression within a few days, for some reason. The shame of it weighed heavily on her chest.

And she had not even thought about the moral consequences of her actions. Sure, she was not a very religious person. But lately she had been feeling stronger in her faith, and the thought that she might have pissed off God permanently caused her shoulders to tense.

But despite knowing that she had done the wrong thing trying to take her own life, she felt a compulsion to try it again. She tried to remind herself over and over that this was just depression, that it would pass, but it felt like an endless pit of despair. She just wanted to put a stop to it, and nothing else seemed like it would help.

For the first time since she woke up in the hospital, tears began to fall down her cheeks. '_I guess it all comes down to hope_,' she thought. She could almost feel Mulder's embrace, his hand cradling the back of her head as she leaned into his chest. There was friendship there, and trust, but most of all, there was hope. Hope for a future where their friendship might lead to something more, where they could admit their feelings for one another, and start something even deeper.

The hope was like pillars within her, and with the removal of that structure, there was nothing but a gaping cavity within her, and nothing to support her. She licked salty wetness off her lips as she realized the hollowness of Mulder's every gentle gesture, and the hole inside grew bigger.

She had already canvassed the bathroom for anything she might use to end her pain, but this was a mental hospital, after all. It would not be that easy to create her own great escape.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sound that created chills throughout her body. It was a rattling sound, and she canvassed the dark room to figure out where it came from. She looked at April's bed, which still contained a snoring April. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted movement by an old radiator next to the wall. A shadow hunched on the ground next to it, and Scully's eyes adjusted enough to realize it was Misty.

Scully froze as she realized that the girl was staring straight ahead, and the source of the clanging sound was Misty's fingers brushing the edge of the radiator in a repetitive motion. Scully clenched her eyes shut and tried to ignore the noise, but the silence contrasted against it too loudly.

Scully opened her eyes again, and saw Skippy's figure standing in the doorway. "Misty?" he said. "Everything okay?"

"No." It was Misty's voice, but it had a darkness completely opposite of the voice Scully had heard earlier. "M-m-my bed's not safe."

The silence that followed rattled Scully's insides. "It's safe, Misty. Let's get you back into bed."

Scully breathed a sigh when Misty complied. Everything was quiet again, and Scully felt herself finally drifting off to sleep. Her eyes snapped open when she heard a sound like ripping fabric coming from the bed next to hers. She curled up into a tight ball, wishing desperately now that she had never ended up here.

After about fifteen minutes of the haunting noise, Skippy's shadow appeared again. "Misty, what's going on?"

Misty did not answer, but sat rocking on her bed. From the tiny bit of light spilling in from the hallway, Scully could see the stuffing from Misty's bed scattered all over the floor. "Misty, did you tear up your bed again?" said Skippy. "Come on, let's go."

"No," said Misty, emphatically.

Skippy stood tall in the doorway. "Come, Misty."

Misty did not move. Skippy strode towards her side and said, "Do we have to do this the hard way?"

Misty stopped rocking and stood up, but did not move. "I-I-I'm not going," she said.

Skippy slipped around behind her and threw her arms in front of her, all in one swift movement. He wrapped his arms around her waist and picked her up from behind, and her legs began to flail. Their forward progression towards the door was slow but steady. The smell of shit filled the room. April began a frantic chatter to herself. Scully curled up tighter.

She got what felt like an hour of sleep before the sound of a female's voice woke her again. "April. . . April . . . April, time to take your meds." There was a pause. "April, I'm going to keep this up until you get up. April. . . April."

Scully sighed and threw the sheets off her. The sun was coming up. After a sleepless night, a new day had begun.


	9. Chapter 9

_Author's comments: Aw gawd, I love this chapter. Enjoy._

**Skyscraper**

**Chapter Nine**

Part 1.

Scully stared at her reflection in the faux mirror. Hollowed eyes glowered back at her. In this moment, she felt like she had failed—failed the world, herself, everyone who knew and loved her. She was here, in this place, and it looked a lot like rock bottom. '_How can I possibly make it through another day?_' she thought. She forced herself to move in the direction of the dining room for breakfast.

She sat at a long table with people seated all around it, and stared at the plate of barely-edible food before her. The woman next to her began to shriek for no reason, and a staff member yelled for a tall gangly man across the table to sit back down. Catching glimpses of the faces around her, Scully could tell that nobody was here for depression or attempted suicide. She doubted that she could even have a conversation with anyone here.

Scully did not pick up her fork. She waited for the staff to say it was okay to get up, and she brushed down her hospital gown with her hands as she stood. Thinking about how she might get a decent change of clothes, she made her way to Ms. Snyder's office for her morning appointment.

She had to wait. In fact, she had to wait for just about everything in this place. More than forty-five minutes passed before Ms. Snyder opened her door. Scully's head pounded as she waited for the silence to end. "Miss Scully, have you ever taken any medication for depression?"

Scully's shoulders hunched around her neck. "No, not until I came here."

Ms. Snyder scribbled. "But you have had treatment for depression."

Scully scrunched up her face in thought. "Not exactly. Like I said yesterday, I got help for a particularly difficult case I was working on."

Scribble, scribble. "And you've recently gone through some traumatic events in your life, correct?"

Scully stared at the pen Ms. Snyder was holding, as if it would help her decode what was being written. "Yes. Can I ask a question?"

Ms. Snyder stopped writing and looked up. "What is it, Miss Scully?"

"Why am I here?" Realizing how absurd the question sounded, she said, "I mean, I know why I was committed. But why was I sent to this facility—to the Baker Center?"

Ms. Snyder looked down at her notepad again. "You need the kind of help we can provide, Miss Scully." She looked Scully in the eyes now. "Let's talk about a treatment plan, Miss Scully. We feel—."

"Who's 'we'?"

"Your treatment team. We feel that your depression is severe enough that it requires some more intensive treatment options. We believe the best therapy plan would include cognitive-behavioral counseling, combined with immediate applications of bilateral ECT. We would administer the ECT treatments every other day for approximately two weeks."

Scully sat up straight as a rod. Alarm crept into her voice. "Electroconvulsive therapy? Is this a joke?"

Ms. Snyder's stoic expression answered Scully's question. "Miss Scully, from your history it appears that you have been suffering from severe depression that has not responded to treatment for quite some time now. This is standard—"

"_Doctor _Scully. I'm sure you realize I am a medical doctor, Miss Snyder, and I realize what the protocol is for ECT. I have not even been prescribed anti-depressants until the last few days. That's hardly enough time—"

"Doctor Scully, I'm sure you are aware that while you are committed, you do not get to make your own treatment choices—"

Scully leaned forward in her seat. "But I _do _have to give consent to something as invasive as ECT."

"Not in this case Miss—excuse me, Doctor Scully. We feel that immediate treatment is imperative, and we will begin today."

Scully opened her mouth, but had a hard time finding words. "Two weeks? I should only be here for 72 hours."

"We've decided that you need to be in-patient longer than that for treatment to be effective. Your doctor has already signed off on it."

Scully froze in her seat, thoughts racing. Anger gathered in her chest. "And what if I refuse?"

Ms. Snyder's face stared at her blankly. "That is not an option, I'm afraid."

Scully stood up, feeling her lungs gasping for air in a panic. She paced, and Ms. Snyder responded by standing up as well. Scully's eyes fixated on the door handle. Ms. Snyder moved towards the phone on her desk. Unable to think of any other options, Scully made a dash for the door and opened it. She heard Ms. Snyder speaking into the phone as she darted out the door. "Security . . ."

Part 2.

Mulder stood in the doorway of Scully's now-empty hospital room. Without warning, and with no notice to him, she was gone. He went and sat on her bed, touching the spot where her head had laid. He knew where she was, though.

On his way to the center, he debated calling her mom. He had not notified her, because he knew Scully would not want her mom to see her like that. Scully's mom would be mad when she discovered she had been left out of the loop. But Mulder knew Scully would want to tell her mother herself. Meanwhile, Mulder had jumped through some hoops to get his name in the system as the primary contact.

He drove to the Baker Center, a large brick building with towering pillars like something out of the Victorian era. Gazing up in awe, he trotted up to the front door. A heavy-set lady with white hair refused to look up from the computer when he arrived at the information desk. He put his hands on the counter and said, "I'm looking for Dana Scully. I'm her partner—her doctor told me she's here."

"Dana Scully," the woman said, fixated on her computer screen. "Hold on a minute." Phones were picked up, staff members walked by and asked for files, and Mulder shifted from foot to foot as he waited.

"What was the name again?" the woman said.

"Dana Scully."

The woman looked at the computer screen again. "Right. D. Scully. Let's see, Mr.—"

"Mulder."

"Mulder. Yes, you're on the list. But no visitors."

Mulder's eyebrows lifted. "None—ever?"

Now the woman looked up at him. "No visitors, no."

Mulder shook his head in disbelief. "But—"

"I'm sorry, sir. Doctor's orders. And I really can't discuss it with you."

Mulder's voice rose. "But I'm on the list." He found himself leaning too far over the counter, but he couldn't pull himself away from the edge.

The woman's brow furrowed. "Sir, you'll have to calm down. Now, I cannot discuss this with you further. You will have to leave."

Mulder's shoulders tightened. "Who do I need to talk to? I need to see them now." He jabbed a pointed finger onto the counter.

"Sir, we can do this the hard way. Do I need to call security?"

Mulder clenched his lips in between his teeth. He looked away and rubbed his nose. It would not do any good to cause a scene right now, and he would not get far if he went to look for her. It was a lock-down facility, after all.

He lowered his voice and met the woman's gaze. "C-can I ask one more question?"

"Sir?" Her lips curled under.

"Can I bring her anything? Clothes?"

The woman's face softened. "We will let you know in a day or two if she can have anything from the outside."

Mulder sighed. He knew he would have to make contact with her somehow. For now, he would work with the Lone Gunmen.


	10. Chapter 10

_Author's comments: I have an additional spoiler alert here—Wetwired. _

**Skyscraper**

**Chapter Ten**

Part 1.

"What do you have for me, boys?"

Langly waved Mulder over to the computer screen and pointed to some patterns on the screen. "It appears that the chip contains some images, and it projects these images at varying intervals."

"Kind of like a TV," Frohicke interjected.

Mulder tapped his finger on the counter. "Do you know what the images are?"

"No, they are projected in bands. Without better equipment, it's impossible to decode them."

Byers broke in. "Does this remind you all of anything?"

Mulder looked up from the computer screen and said, "The cable device. The one we found a couple of years ago, the same one that made Scully delusional. It affected people by projecting subliminal images on TV screens."

Langly held up a finger. "Right. What if—"

Mulder finished the thought. "What if the same type of device could be implanted into someone, in the form of this computer chip."

"That would give someone the ability to project images directly into someone's brain, without their knowledge," said Byers.

The room went silent as they realized the implications.

"Scully," said Mulder. "The chip in her neck—"

"Poor Scully," said Frohicke. "Do you think that's why—"

"Why she thought she saw me with Diana," Mulder said. His voice softened. "And probably why she became so paranoid. It may even explain why she . . ."

Nobody finished the sentence, but the silence revealed their understanding. "If that's the case," said Mulder, "she's been manipulated for some time now. I've got to get her out of the Baker Center—no telling what they're doing to her." His heart clutched as the possibilities became clear.

Part 2.

Blood vessels pounding in her head, Scully raced through the door and out of Ms. Snyder's office. She got halfway down the hall when Skippy appeared at the end of it and stood, arms wide, ready for action. Scully did a u-turn and ran back the way she came. Ms. Snyder stood in the hallway next to her office. Scully kept running straight towards her.

Scully braced herself and barreled through her, knocking her to the ground. Scully kept running, but soon realized she was running into a dead end.

Turning back now, she realized the only way out was through Skippy. It suddenly occurred to her how large the man was. Not tall, just solid like bricks and mortar. She would have to use speed as her a tool and give it her best shot.

She darted off to the side as she approached him, and he reached for her, stumbling off balance while doing so. She used the gap that had been created between him and the wall, and went for it. But he caught himself by putting his foot out, and he didn't fall. She was past him, but she felt a tugging on her gown, and had to slow down. This gave him the extra second he needed, and he got back solid on his feet and got ahold of her arm.

She knew it was all over as soon as she felt her arms being pushed in front of her, but she still wouldn't go in without a fight. She knew the dangers associated with ECT, and she was not ready to be another test subject. He threw his arms around her from behind, and they were wrapped snugly around her waist like a bear hug from the back. Her feet flew up, but she realized this would not do any good, so she planted them back on the ground and stomped on his foot with her house-slipper clad foot. He let out an "Oof," and bent slightly in pain, but he did not let go of her. Her arms were trapped crossed in front of her, his hands firmly holding them down, and his grip around her waist was unyielding.

All she could do now was wriggle, and he slowly moved her one step at a time down the hall. They came to another room, and he forced her into it. Scully saw an exam table with leather restraints attached. She had been scared up to this point, but terror gripped her insides so tightly now that she thought her heart might collapse in on itself like a black hole.

She stopped struggling. Ms. Snyder was in the room now. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry," Scully said. "Can we just talk about this? Can I talk to my doctor?"

Ms. Snyder stood behind her so that she could not see the woman. "I'm afraid not," she said.

Scully heard other footsteps in the room, right before she saw a nurse and another technician of some sort preparing equipment and supplies. While Skippy shoved her onto the table and strapped her in, Ms. Snyder said from behind her, "Let's do unmodified bilateral."

"Unmodified?" Scully said. She began to struggle again, but her arms were already in the restraints, and Skippy was working on securing one leg. Scully kicked at him and missed his chest by a hair, but caught one of his fingers, jamming it.

"Bitch!" he said to her, grabbing her foot and strapping the restraint around it.

Scully stopped and caught her breath. "Why in the hell are you using unmodified?"

Ms. Snyder took a second to answer her. "I don't even have to discuss this with you, Miss Scully. But in answer to your question, we don't have an anesthetist here."

Scully threw her head back. "You can't do this . . . " She knew that "unmodified" meant that she would not even be put under for the procedure. Even worse, they wouldn't give her muscle relaxers, which prevented the severe convulsions that sometimes caused bones to snap.

Skippy and an assistant got on either side of her and put their hands on one arm and one leg each to hold her body still. The nurse hooked electrodes to either side of her head, and then forced her mouth open to insert a mouth guard. Scully closed her eyes and braced herself.

"Let go," said Ms. Snyder, and all the hands left Scully's skin.

A sharp pain stabbed Scully's entire body like a bolt of lightning. At the same time, a flash of blue filled her eyelids, and she let heard herself say, "Mmmph." Her body was arching at impossible angles, just before her mind went blank.


	11. Chapter 11

_**Author's comments: **__Oh my._

**Skyscraper**

**Chapter Eleven**

Part 1.

Smoke billowed as the man watched the body arching before him. Her eyes rolled up into her head as eight-hundred milliamps coursed through her brain long enough for him to take several drags off his cigarette. She would not know he was there—he would leave before she came to her senses, if ever.

He leaned over towards the social worker and said, "It will be interesting to see the effects on the chip." He took another drag. Ms. Snyder wrinkled her nose. "Our scientists believe it will either short out the chip, leaving it ineffective, or that the chip will enhance the effects of the ECT." He grinned. "She'll either drop dead of cancer, or her brain will become mush. I guess we'll find out, either way."

Part 2.

It took a few seconds for the fuzziness in front of Scully's eyes to clear, but the clouds in her head would not leave. "Feeling better, Miss Scully?" asked the social worker, whose name Scully could no longer remember.

In fact, she had a hard time remembering much of anything. She knew she was in some sort of medical facility, but she couldn't remember why she was lying on this table, or for how long, or what led up to this point. Did she have surgery? Someone took the mouth guard out of her mouth, and then she remembered that she had undergone an electroshock procedure. The details were unclear.

"I-I'm not sure," she said, weakly answering the social worker's question.

She was pretty certain that she wasn't feeling better, though. If so, she must have been feeling pretty awful before, because all she wanted to do was cry right now. She let the tears flow and rolled over on her side after the medical staff unfastened her arms and legs.

Someone brought her water, and she could barely hold the cup, as bad as her hands were trembling. To say that her head hurt would be an understatement—it was more like her brain had been scrambled, with some parts in the wrong place, and other parts malfunctioning like a computer that had shorted out.

She smelled cigarette smoke, and she couldn't understand why. Weren't hospitals supposed to be non-smoking facilities? Maybe she remembered that wrong, too.

They helped her to a wheelchair, and she began to notice aches in various parts throughout her body. Even her teeth hurt. A persistent ring permeated her head, and every time she closed her eyes, she saw a flash of blue.

They wheeled her into a room that looked unfamiliar at first, and then she started to recall that this was the room in which she was staying. A tall, lanky young woman with short brunette hair entered the room, talking to herself. Scully thought she knew her, but she had no recollection of who she was or what her name was. "April, time for meds," the stout orderly said.

'_April, yes April._' Scully stood to get into the welcoming bed, and when she did she almost fell to the floor, her leg giving out underneath her. She collapsed onto the bed. "Oooohh," she groaned, gingerly rubbing her shin.

April stopped to look at her. Scully shut her eyes and rolled up into a ball on the bed, except for her leg, which she stretched out straight. Fragments of memories came back to her—running out of the social worker's office, waking up in the hospital, people around her catching on fire. People catching on fire? She couldn't recall the order of anything, just flashes of events in random sequences.

Another young woman came into the room, plump with long, silky hair, and sat down on the bed next to hers. "D-d-d-dana," she said, and began to rock. "Hi, Dana!" she said, waving.

Scully felt like she might throw up, so she began to rock, too, while lying on her side. "Hi," she whispered. "I don't remember your name, I'm sorry."

"I'm Misty, remember? Goofball." Misty smiled, which was somehow comforting to Scully. She closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep, while flashes of blue light disrupted the blackness behind her eyelids.

Scully woke periodically, but she had no desire to be conscious. The treatment had devastated her, and all she wanted to do was lie here and waste away until she passed. Memories began to come back to her in fits and bursts throughout the day like jigsaw puzzle pieces, but she could not fit them all together. The only thing she knew for sure was that she was miserable.

She opened her eyes to see April step over something invisible on the floor, and then sit on the ground, cross-legged. "Mine too," the girl said, and then she mumbled something else.

"What?" Scully asked.

"Not talking to you," April said.

Scully looked around, but there was nobody else in the room. Her leg throbbed, and she put a hand on it. She sat up when she realized that something wasn't right. The bone was not smooth—there was an unevenness. '_That's right, I'm a doctor,' _she thought. '_And it's definitely broken. I need to tell someone._'

Misty came in the room and sat down on Scully's bed. She started rocking and said, "Hey, Dana, today is going to be a fabby day!"

Scully lay back down and tried to fight back tears. She knew she had wanted to get out of here, but she couldn't remember how or when she was going to do it. Heck, she had a hard time remembering where "here" was.

The big orderly showed up at the door and said, "Dinner time." Misty and April got up and began to move out of the room, but Scully stayed where she was. "Come on, Dana, you slept through lunch so you need to eat."

Scully closed her eyes and said, "No, thanks." She knew she didn't want to move, but she didn't know why. She felt like there was something she was supposed to tell him, but she couldn't remember what it was.

"Suit yourself," he said, and left the room.

A few minutes later, Scully rolled over, and her leg reminded her of what she was supposed to tell the orderly, whose name she could not recall.

Part 3.

Mulder spent the entire day trying to track down Scully's doctor. The hospital had no record of him, as if he did not exist. Mulder searched through every FBI database, and could not find the man. The only records he did not search were those of the Baker Center, which seemed to have a clearance level so high that even his best sources could not reach it.

Returning to the Lone Gunmen's lair, he listened while the three of them gave their best assessment. Byers began, "We've tried accessing the Baker Center records through various means, Mulder, but they have their own database, on their own mainfraim. Everything is in-house."

Langly turned toward the computer screen beside him. "Yeah, everything except for security footage, that is. It takes up too much space, so they have to store old footage at an off-site server."

"Cloud computing at its finest," said Frohicke.

"The server where it's stored is not easy to crack," said Langly, "but you know us."

He smiled as he brought up computer image of a room. Mulder smiled too. "Did you find her?"

"Yes, yes we did," said Frohicke. "But we can't get current footage. Everything here has been downloaded periodically throughout the day."

They watched as Langly fast-forwarded through to yesterday. He slowed it down when the video feed, shot from above, showed Scully being wheeled into the room in a wheelchair by a large, male staff member. Mulder leaned in and nudged Frohicke out of the way.

Mulder frowned when he saw her pale face scanning the room. Her eyes, sunken in, reminded Mulder of the time she reached her low point before, when the cancer almost took her life. This time, there was no physical ailment threatening her life, but depression appeared to be weighing on her just as heavily.

He kept watching as she got settled in and went into the bathroom to change into her hospital gown. He felt guilty for spying on her this way, even though he knew she would understand why. There was no camera feed in the bathroom, but she reappeared a few minutes later, and he felt sorry for her that she could not even wear her own clothes.

The feed went dark at lights out. There was movement during the night, but all Mulder could see was shadows, and he hoped the big bastard who had wheeled her in wasn't coming back in to take advantage.

The four men stared at the computer screen while Langly fast-forwarded through times when Scully wasn't there, and slowed it down when she was in the room. Around mid-morning the second day, Langly slowed it down again when the orderly began to wheel someone in a wheelchair into the room, and Mulder gasped when he realized it was Scully.

"Why is she in a wheelchair now?" he asked. "She walked out on her own."

Frohicke shook his head. Mulder ran fingers through his hair and leaned in again to watch her. He couldn't see close-up, of course, but her eyes looked vacant from here. She stood up out of the wheelchair and almost collapsed, and Mulder flinched forward as if he could grab her and help her up. She fell into the bed and curled up in a ball, and Mulder stared at her sullen face.

"Do you want me to fast-forward?" Langly asked softly.

"No," Mulder said, in a voice barely above a whisper. "Just leave it on."

Respectfully, the Lone Gunmen all turned their heads away and gave him a moment of privacy while he watched her sleep. His heart felt like it might burst at the sight of her fragile, unmoving frame. He brushed away a tear from his face and sniffed away more. '_What did they do to you, Scully?' _he thought. "You can fast-forward now," he told Langly.

But there was not much to see—just Scully sleeping, with occasional interruptions from her roommates, all the way until the room went dark.

Mulder turned away from the screen and clenched his jaw. "So what do we have to do to get her out of there, guys?"

"We can't," said Byers. "The place is like Fort Knox."

"Yeah," said Frohicke. "Even if we could get past the electrified fence, even if we made it all the way into the building, Scully's in the tightest locked-down part of the facility."

Mulder frowned. "There's got to be a way—she can't stay in there."

"Nope, there's no way to get in," said Byers. "But there might be a way for her to get out."


	12. Chapter 12

_**Author's comments: **__I do believe this is going to be my longest story so far._

**Skyscraper**

**Chapter Twelve**

Part 1.

The night was even longer than the day. Almost catatonic, Scully lay still in bed, unwilling to turn due to the pain in her leg. April got up numerous times during the night, sometimes retrieving a secret stash of snacks from under her blanket and noisily scarfing them down. Misty slept solidly, snoring loudly, until about 2 a.m. About that time, Scully's eyes opened when she heard a familiar but creepy ripping sound. Sure enough, Misty was sitting on the edge of her bed, mindlessly pulling stuffing out of a hole she had ripped in the mattress.

Within minutes, the orderly, whose name Scully now recalled was Skippy, came in and ordered Misty to come with him. Scully wondered where they took her in the middle of the night. Once again, Misty resisted, charging at Skippy and almost knocking him over. "Asshole!" she shrieked. He caught her, but she bit his arm, and then tried to head-butt him. But there was no defeating Skippy, and soon enough he dragged her out of the room kicking and screaming.

As Scully listened to April muttering quietly in her bed, she thought about her own future. Most of her memories had come back to her in fragments, and she had managed to piece them together over the hours. She knew she was an FBI agent, and a doctor. She still felt like there were pieces missing.

How would she ever get out of this place, and when? Would she ever be able to return to her career? She vaguely recalled Ms. Snyder telling her she would have to undergo ECT for the next two weeks. Considering the effects the first treatment had on her memory and her cognition already, what would her mental state be when she was done?

The saddest part for her was that her biggest strength, as a doctor, as a scientist, was her intelligence. Was this going to destroy her mind? And if so, what was left for her?

Her head ached from all the sorrow. She had to stop thinking about it or she would have no motivation to find a way out. She wiped away a tear and tried to go back to sleep.

After what seemed like about a half-hour, Skippy woke April up for her morning meds, and Scully was awake for good.

Part 2.

Skippy helped Scully into a wheelchair and into the dining hall, where she took about two bites before setting her fork down. The people around her rocked, and one woman shrieked, causing Scully to jump. All the noise and chaos made Scully feel like rocking too.

After breakfast, Scully was taken to Ms. Snyder's office. The woman's wrinkles curled around her lips as she smiled. "And how are we today, Miss Scully? Are you still depressed?"

Scully glared at Ms. Snyder, and then plopped an elbow on the arm of her wheelchair and rested her head in her hand. She felt almost too weak to sit up. "I need my leg treated," she said. "It's broken."

Ms. Snyder bent over to look at it, and then stood. "I'm afraid you're right, Miss Scully. It's a common side effect of unmodified ECT—the body has trouble handling the convulsions. We'll get it set properly when the doctor gets in tomorrow."

Scully sat up straight. "Tomorrow? But I need help now."

"I'm sorry dear, but the doctor only comes twice a we—"

"So take me to the ER!" Scully could not believe the callousness of this woman.

"Miss Scully. Given your history of attempting to elope, we just cannot take a chance. We'll have the nurse wrap it up, and you'll be fine until tomorrow."

Scully breathed a heavy sigh. "I want to call someone. Can I make a phone call?"

"No calls in or out."

Scully rolled her eyes up to the top of the wall. She could see the hopelessness of the situation now. Finally she cast daggers back at Ms. Snyder with her eyes and said, "This treatment is not working for me. Can we please discontinue it?"

Ms. Snyder looked down at her pen, which she played with in her fingers. "Let me ask you a question, Miss Scully. Do you remember what you were depressed about?"

Scully closed her eyes. For the life of her, she could not remember what had sent her spiraling into a suicidal tailspin. She opened her eyes. "No, I don't."

"If that's the case, wouldn't you say the treatment is working?"

Scully would have stood and stormed out, if she could have. Instead, she said, "At what price? I may lose my career, and my ability to have a normal life."

Unphased, Ms. Snyder said, "I'd say that's better than dying by your own hand."

Scully pursed her lips and looked away, too tired to argue and unable to come up with a reason why Ms. Snyder was wrong.

Part 3.

Her brain was not working right, and she knew it. This place had taken away her freedom, and whatever was left of her happiness, and now it was taking the one thing she thought she could never lose—her mind. The nurse wrapped her leg, and Skippy helped her back into bed so she could take a nap. April sat quietly in one corner of the room, her eyes staring out into nothingness. Silence penetrated the room after Skippy left.

"Mulder says hi," said April, startling Scully.

"Mulder," Scully repeated, sitting up. '_I know that name._' It was so familiar, but she could not put a face to it. '_Damnit,_' she thought. '_Why can't I remember?_'

"What else did he say?" Scully asked.

April did not answer.

"What did he say?" Scully demanded.

"Back off, bitch!" said April. She turned away from Scully, and the conversation was over.

Exhausted by the whole ordeal, Scully tried not to think too much as she drifted off to sleep. Skippy's voice woke her. "Miss Scully, someone brought you some things."

Still groggy, she sat up. "What? Who?"

"I don't know," he said, as he handed her a pile of folded items. "I'm just the messenger," he said, and left.

Scully unfolded each piece, and a sense of elation accompanied each unwrapping like it was Christmas morning. There were two sets of cotton pajamas and a robe, both hers. There was a fleece blanket with a pattern of pink hearts against a background of black. Scully lowered her eyebrows—definitely not her style. But she was grateful, nonetheless. Perhaps her mother brought these things?

As she unfolded the robe and prepared to put it on, something fell out of the pocket. She bent over to pick it up and discovered two things on the floor. One was a folded piece of paper, and the other was a picture. She held the picture between her fingers, staring at the handsome dark-haired, half-smiling man until a light flicked on in her head. '_Mulder_,' she thought. A face to go with the name.

Memories began to flood back like a tsunami. How could she have forgotten? How long did they work together? She knew it had to be years. They met in his basement office. They chased UFO's. He sat at her bedside when she recovered from her abduction, and then again when she recovered from cancer. They searched for his sister. The years—all the years that had disappeared from her brain, wiped out with the eraser of an electric pulse.

She shook her head. '_Unbelievable._' And then other memories came back—more recent memories. Of him kissing a woman named—was it Diana? Pictures—of him with someone smoking cigarettes, someone heartless and evil. A file folder with her medical records and a chip. She reached a hand back and touched the back of her neck, remembering now.

She sighed. When she first saw the picture of Mulder, she felt nothing but affection for him—love, even. But apparently she had begun to mistrust him, and ultimately she had gained evidence that he was secretly working against her the whole time they knew each other. So why had he brought her all this stuff? And what was she to make of him now?

She unfolded the piece of paper that had fallen from her robe. It read, "Let your heart lead you."

'_Could he be any more vague?_' she thought. But he would have known that any messages would be monitored by the guardians of this place. He had been intentionally unclear, but she knew there was a hidden message there. It would take some problem-solving on her part, which was not her strength right now.

Scully's thoughts were interrupted by Skippy's voice. "Time for meds."

She looked in the pill cup and saw that her medications had been changed. "What are these?" she asked.

Skippy shrugged.

'_Absolutely not,' _she thought. '_I have to stay clear._'

"I don't want them," she said, looking up at Skippy. "I'm refusing."

"Just take the meds, Miss Scully," he said without moving.

"I have the right to refuse."

Their eyes locked, and she knew there was going to be a battle of some sort, but it was one she was willing to wage. She needed to be able to think straight if she was ever going to figure out a way out of here.

Skippy stepped out into the hallway and returned with Ms. Snyder, who glared at her, eyes blazing. "Take the meds, Miss Scully."

"I know my rights," Scully said calmly. "I can refuse medications."

Ms. Snyder pursed her lips. "Take her to the chamber," she said to Skippy, who got behind her wheelchair and began to roll her out of the room.


	13. Chapter 13

_**Author's comments: **__Fast and furious. It's inside me, and I just have to get it out._

**Skyscraper**

**Chapter Thirteen**

Part 1.

Scully tried not to let fear consume her breaths, because she needed all the air she could save. Darkness engulfed her, but the worst part was the pain in her leg. Not her broken leg, though—it was safely stretched out below her. Her other leg, however, was bent at the knee, so that her foot lay behind her. Handcuffed to it were her hands, which had also been forced behind her back, leaving her broken leg as the only extremity left unshackled. She shivered, lying on the cold steel table, naked except for the bag over her head.

Hog-tied like a common farm animal, she tried to slow her breaths by making them deeper. But it was hard not to panic when her leg felt like the pain might explode it from the inside out. "Please," she said, trying not to whimper. "Please, I'll take my meds."

But nobody came, and each minute was like an hour. '_Keep breathing_,' she kept repeating to herself, tears crowding the corners of her eyes. It became a mantra to pass each unbearable minute—'_Keep breathing. Keep breathing. Slow it down. Keep breathing._'

When the liberating sound of keys clanging resounded, she could have been there for two hours or two days, it was hard to tell. A whispered "Haaahhh . . ." came from her mouth when the tension from the handcuffs allowed her to move her arms and leg again. But the relief was short-lived when the muscles in her shoulders and thigh screamed at her with every movement. A bucket of tears automatically poured from her eyes as Skippy moved her back to the wheelchair.

She moved into various positions to get comfortable in her seat, but pain still shot through every tendon. Skippy handed her a cup of pills and a glass of water without a word, and she swallowed them with shaking hands. He wheeled her down the hallway still naked, but she did not have the strength to protest. He lifted her into the bed, and she laid there, gulping down sobs, until she felt the soft fleece from her heart blanket being placed over her bare skin, and looked up through clouded eyes to see Misty standing over her. She did not say anything, just shot a grateful glance up at the girl.

It seemed like there was no off switch for the tears. It was like two weeks-worth of trauma had come unleashed, and she did not know how to plug it back up. Her mind turned to haze as the drugs took effect. As she curled up in the blanket, she felt something crinkly inside it. Thinking it was the tag, she mindlessly reached for it, and realized that the paper was sown inside the blanket. '_Let your heart lead you_,' she thought. '_Of course.'_

Part 2.

After dark, Mulder stared at the computer screen in the Lone Gunmen's lair. He shifted his feet as he waited to see how Scully had reacted to the package he had delivered earlier today. It was the only way he could communicate with her, other than talking to her roommate, which now seemed like a wasted effort. Scully was not allowed visitation, but April had no such restrictions. But he knew as soon as he uttered his first words to the girl that she would not be able to deliver much of his message, if any.

Scully did not seem any better today—she appeared weak, and her expression had not lightened any. But her face lit up for a few brief minutes when she began to inspect the clothes he had brought her, and that made him smile. He knew trouble was brewing, however, when the big orderly rushed her out of the room.

Langly fast-forwarded a little too far, and Mulder yelled, "Stop, stop, stop," when the wheelchair appeared again. But when Langly complied, Mulder's mouth dropped open as soon as he realized what he was seeing, and he barked out, "Cover your eyes." All three of the Lone Gunmen looked away, but he doubted they would be able to erase the harsh image they had seen from their eyes.

Mulder, on the other hand, could not look away, as if viewing a car crash. A paper-thin Scully sat naked, hands twisted inward and trembling so bad that she looked like a Parkinson's patient. The worst part of it all was the sobbing, obvious from her rapid chest movements and crumpled face. Feeling helpless to stop it, tears flowed freely down his own face as he watched her being lifted onto the bed like a cripple.

Mulder finally had to look away, feeling like he was watching an Auschwitz survivor. When he looked back, though, she was tucked underneath the blanket he had brought her, and it gave him some slight bit of relief to know that she could find comfort in something that he had provided.

His mouth dropped open when she sat up a few minutes later and began talking to her other roommate, the one named Misty, and then pulled the heart blanket off her own body to hand it to Misty. She wrapped a facility blanket around herself instead, and lay there, unmoving, until lights out.

Mulder put a hand to his mouth. It looked like his efforts had been pointless, after all. Maybe she was so tortured that nothing he did would get through to her. He kicked a leg of the table and turned away from the dark images of Scully's room.

Part 3.

After the lights went out, Scully forced herself to stay awake, despite her trembling body begging her to give in to sleep. She kept dozing off, despite her best efforts, but she woke to every slightest noise in the room. After several hours, her waiting paid off. She heard a familiar ripping sound, and opened her eyes to see Misty ripping the heart blanket to shreds.

Scully closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep when Skippy predictably entered the room. She whispered, "I'm sorry," although she knew Misty would not hear it through the struggle with Skippy. Now Scully had a good idea where Misty was taken every night, and her heart sagged for the girl.

Using every effort from her debilitated body, Scully reached over as far as she could and dragged the torn heart blanket back to her own bed. Feeling around in the darkness with her hands, she located the paper that had been trapped inside the blanket, and tucked it away in the palm of her hand.


	14. Chapter 14

_**Author's comments: **__Intense enough yet? I don't THINK so…_

**Skyscraper**

**Chapter Thirteen**

Part 1.

Mulder stayed in the Lone Gunmen's place most of the following day, ordering them to download feeds as often as they could. Scully slept most of the morning away. Mulder hung his head just before lunchtime, figuring she had given up. '_What was I thinking? I should have given her a clearer message._' He folded his arms and looked up at the screen again.

Scully was sitting up. Mulder perked up. He was relieved to see her wearing a pair of her own pajamas and the robe he had brought her. She studied something in her hand. Was she trying to figure out the riddle? Mulder moved in closer to the screen. "Her eyes," he said out loud.

"What?" asked Langly.

"Her eyes are moving back and forth," he said, pointing to the screen. "Look. She's reading."

She glanced at the door, and then unfolded the paper square in her hand into a full eight-and-a-half by eleven rectangle.

"By George you're right," Frohicke said.

Mulder paced a few steps back and forth without taking his eyes off the screen. "It's got to be the instructions," he said. "We've got to move into Phase Two, guys."

"I think you're right," said Byers. "But even if she figures out where she's supposed to go, how is she going to get there? She's in pretty bad shape, Mulder."

Mulder's eyes fastened intently on the screen. "She'll find a way." He looked at Byers. "Meanwhile, I have to get ready. I have to be waiting for her. Remind me again why I can't just go through the fence for her?"

"No way," said Langly. "We can only deactivate it once before they figure out something's up. It won't give you enough time to get back, especially as jacked up as she is."

"Yeah," said Byers. "Best for you to just be there for her when she gets out, so you don't both get trapped in there."

Frohicke patted Mulder on the shoulder. "Go get our Chickadee, Mulder."

Part 2.

Scully overheard that it was snowing outside. She could almost feel the chill in the room. "How am I going to do it?" she said out loud. "I can't do it. I'll never make it."

Misty sat rocking on her bed, smiling and chewing gum. Scully didn't understand how she could be so cheerful every morning after living through such horrid nights. '_Every day's a new day, I guess,_' she said to herself. April got up from her spot on the floor and dug a box of crackers out from under her mattress with trembling hands. She ate a few and got up, walked past Scully, and then stood right in front of her without saying a word.

Scully looked up at her. April held a handful of crackers out and said in a monotone voice, "Want some?"

Scully half-smiled at her. "No, but thank you." April walked away.

Scully read the instructions on the paper one more time and shook her head. She took a mental inventory of her physical condition. She had barely eaten two bites in as many days, so she was weak. Her broken leg hurt like a bitch. Every muscle ached. She had a hard time putting together even one coherent thought at times. And worst of all, she had another ECT session scheduled today, so she probably wouldn't even remember what she was planning in about another hour.

She read the instructions one more time, trying to commit them to a memory that was probably doomed. Then she stared at Mulder's picture while warm tingles radiated down her arms. She swung her head towards Misty, a sudden idea springing into her head. "Misty, I need you to remember something for me."

"No problem, girlfriend!" said Misty.

"When I see you again later today, be sure to tell me that Mulder has a plan."

Misty looked up at the ceiling, giving the words great thought. "Huh. Mulder has a plan."

"Right. Good job, Misty."

"Thanks," said Misty, smiling. "Mulder. That starts with 'M'."

"Yes it does, Misty. That's really good."

"Thank you, girlfriend!" said Misty.

Scully tucked Mulder's picture and instructions under the heart blanket and sighed, bracing herself for the impending day.

Part 3.

The first stop was the dining hall. Scully scarfed down her turkey sandwich like she had never eaten before, and then finished up the mushy green beans and potato chips on her plate, ignoring the tall, scary man who slammed his hand down on the table multiple times before being dragged away. She paused while eating, but only for a moment, when she noticed the woman across from her chewing huge mouthfuls of food and then spitting them out on the table.

Scully's relief at leaving the medieval-feeling dining room was short-lived when she realized what her next stop would be. She turned her head when Skippy rolled her into the room, trying to avoid having to see the equipment that would be used to fry her brain. She did not resist when Skippy lifted her feeble body onto the table. It almost felt like he was gentler with her today.

"Good afternoon, Miss Scully," Ms. Snyder's nasally voice said from the doorway. The woman walked to a spot where Scully could not see her. Scully drew a deep breath and held it as leather straps clenched around her wrists and ankles. She closed her eyes as hands gripped her arms and legs, and tried to avoid crying out when her broken bone screamed at her. Fingers pried open her mouth, and plastic clashed against her teeth.

She couldn't help but gasp as she listened to the equipment emit a sickening hum while the electricity built up. Her breaths became rapid and shallow. The machine clicked. Someone coughed. Every second dragged. '_Mulder,' _she thought. '_Mulder, Mulder, Mulder . . .'_

Ms. Snyder said, "Let go."

Hands released her. '_Mulder, Mulder, Mu_—'

"Nnnngggg . . ." she said, her tongue arching against the mouth restraint. Volts shot through every nerve. Blue, then black, then nothingness filled her vision.


	15. Chapter 15

_**Author's comments: **__Spoiler alert, in case I didn't mention it already—Redux II. That said, I'm not real happy with this chapter, but I think I need to let it go—I could tinker with it forever and not be satisfied._

_Also, there has been some…ahem…mislabeling of chapters. Sorry, not paying attention to the silly details. Too busy getting absorbed in the story._

**Skyscraper**

**Chapter Fifteen**

Part 1.

For a while, Scully was floating, or so it seemed. '_Am I dead?_' she thought, blissfully unaware of any sense of space or time. The euphoria slammed to a halt as her body hit the cold, metal table, at the same time that an intense spike shot through her leg and up through her body, causing her to gasp.

She opened her eyes. A man was standing over her, smiling. He had dark hair and hazel eyes, and she knew that she knew him. She tried to smile back at him, just before she noticed the tall, dark-haired woman standing next to him. Scully thought she knew the woman's name—Diana, maybe? The man stopped looking at Scully to lean in to the woman and whisper something in her ear. The woman nodded, and they turned away.

The man approached another woman in the room, a blonde, and now Scully remembered that this was the social worker. The man shook the social worker's hand and said, "Good work, Ms. Snyder. Keep an eye on her. She's clever." He shot one last look at her and started out of the room.

Scully closed her eyes. Why was she feeling slighted by his rebuff? She could not even remember who he was. Her mind became distracted when pain stabbed through her leg again. She bit her lip to keep her mind off it. "Skippy, take her out now," said Ms. Snyder.

Skippy and the nurse unfastened her restraints, and she began to remember what she was doing here. But a haze still clouded her brain, causing thoughts to become jumbled up and making it hard to come up with words. "Miss. . . Snyder," she said. "My leg. Can someone look at it?"

"The doctor's not here today, Miss Scully." Ms. Snyder looked down at her clipboard and made a notation.

Skippy lifted her like a delicate flower, and still Scully howled. "I'm sorry, Miss Scully," said Skippy. She clenched her teeth and tensed up as he finished putting her in the chair.

Back in her room, Scully sat on her bed and unwrapped her leg. She gasped when she saw it, brown and purple and swollen to twice its normal size. She lay back as gently as she could. She needed help, but she didn't even know where to begin with her mind all foggy.

"Hi, D-d-dana!" said one of Scully's roommates, waving frantically as she approached Scully's bed. As usual, her name escaped Scully. "Remember that Mulder has a plan."

"What?" said Scully.

"Remember, you said that Mulder has a plan." The roommate giggled, her eyes rolled up to the ceiling. "You're losing your marbles, girlfriend."

'_Mulder,_' she thought. '_Yes, Mulder._'

The thought led her to another, and she sat up and fished through the neatly folded blanket on the foot of the bed. She found a picture on top of a piece of paper. Her eyes fixated on the picture. The man in the room earlier today. '_Mulder_.'

Her chest constricted as neurons fired in her brain. This was Mulder, but who was Mulder? And why did the mere sight of him cause her heart to become heavy?

She unfolded and read the piece of paper. The words seemed to indicate that Mulder wanted to help her, to save her, and that felt right. But his presence in the room right after she underwent ECT, and his coziness with the other woman, Diana, led her to think that he was one of the people who wanted to destroy her, and that hurt like hell.

So which person was the real Mulder? Which reality was the truth? Was his goal to build her up, or tear her down? She closed her eyes. A vision came to her, a memory burned into her psyche, clear as glass. In it, she was lying in a hospital bed much like this one, only much brighter. She was sick and weak and crying, but Mulder lit the room when he saw her. She had offered to take the blame for a murder, a murder for which he would be prosecuted. But he refused to let her take the fall.

"I can't let you take the blame," he had said. "I couldn't live with it." She vividly recalled a priest entering the room, and how she had grabbed Mulder's hand, not wanting to let it go. He had kissed her on the cheek and asked her to have the priest say a few "Hail Mulders" for him, before reluctantly leaving her side to attend a crucial hearing that would decide his fate.

Scully didn't know why she could recall this scene from her life while so many others were blank. But she knew how it made her feel—she knew the longing she had for this man, how he trusted her so much that he came to her before making a life-altering decision, how he cared too much to allow her to sacrifice her life for his.

Scully took a deep breath. She knew what she had to do. But she still had no idea how she was going to do it.

Part 2.

Mulder crouched next to a tree and peered through the fence. He knew that if he touched it now, volts of electricity would fry him to a crisp. He gulped as he thought of Scully trying to get past it, and hoped that the gunmen would come through. "You tell us if you see her," he heard Frohicke say through the headset.

He crossed his fingers and scanned the horizon for any sign of movement. He had parked his car as close as he could, but trees kept him from getting within a hundred yards of the spot where she would exit. But he wasn't as worried about the trip to the car as he was her trip to the fence. The facility was a shadow in the distance, and it looked like a lengthy trip on a good day. On this night, snow covered the ground deep enough to bury a person's feet.

He bit his lip and tried not to worry about what would happen if she didn't make it. Would she be the same person as before? Would she even be alive much longer? He could not imagine life without Scully. She had done so much—sacrificed so much, offered to go to jail for him when she was on her deathbed. Over the years, they had built up a trust and a friendship so strong that nothing could replace it. He put his head down and said, "Please, if there is a god, let her make it home."

"Getting religious on me Mulder?" said Frohicke. After a pause, he said, "No worries, buddy, I'm praying too."


	16. Chapter 16

_**Author's comments: **__Your wish is my command! Actually, I wrote this chapter before I read the comments, lol. _

_I guess I need to actually watch the episodes I write about—the chip in Scully's neck (the second one anyway) is round, not square. My bad. :p_

**Skyscraper**

**Chapter Sixteen**

Part 1.

Scully hoped the timing would be right. Usually Misty didn't have her late-night melt-downs until around 2 a.m. or later, or so it seemed to Scully. Mulder hadn't written what time the cart would be there, maybe because he did not know about the staff that came in to remove Misty when she began to rip things apart.

"Good night, Misty," Scully said at lights-out.

"Good night, girlfriend."

"Sleep well," she said, knowing this would probably be the last time they would see each other.

"I will!" said Misty.

"Good night, April," said Scully.

April grunted.

Scully lay awake and listened, and tried hard not to fall asleep. Her eyes wanted to close and stay that way, because the drugs gave her a heavy feeling. Several times she caught herself dozing off, only to awake at a slamming door somewhere in the building. Her eyes began to close again, but they snapped open when she heard the sound of wheels rolling on the hard floor.

She set her good foot down on the ground, pulled her robe on, and found her house shoes. Pain shot up through her injured leg as she stood on the other one. Leaning over to grab the side of the bed for support, she hobbled on her healthy leg until she got to the edge of the bed, and began to hop towards the door.

After two hops, Scully lost her balance and reflexively put her other foot down. A burning pain sped through every nerve ending, nearly causing her to cry out. The broken leg collapsed under her, and she went straight to the floor. She bit her lip, hard, to keep from making a sound.

Propping herself up on her arms, she assessed the situation. Maybe if she could crawl the rest of the way to the hallway, she could evaluate her chances. She had just begun to pull herself towards the door one excruciating movement at a time when she heard bed springs compressing behind her. '_Crap_,' she thought. '_Misty is waking up early tonight.'_

She felt helpless as she turned her head to watch Misty stand, unsteady from sleep. Misty stood for a few agonizing seconds, and then turned her head towards Scully. Scully put up one finger to her lips, hoping Misty understood the signal to be quiet. Misty held up one finger to her lips in return.

She could almost see the cogs turning in Misty's mind as she tried to make sense of this unexpected element. Scully waited to see whether her roommate would ignore her and turn around to rip up her mattress as usual. Instead, the girl began taking steps in Scully's direction, until she stood directly over her. Without saying a word, she bent over and hoisted Scully back up onto her one good foot, and held onto her so she wouldn't fall again.

Scully pointed to the door, and took one tentative hop towards it while still holding onto Misty. Misty took her cue and helped her toward the door. When they got to the hallway, Scully peeked her head around the corner for just a second, and saw the laundry cart parked a few doors down. Mulder had written that the cart would be left alone for a few minutes while the attendant gathered the dirty clothes from the laundry room. He had also warned that the security cameras would be on, so she needed to be quick.

Misty came with her and helped her hobble down to the cart, which was larger than she expected. When Scully reached it, she tried to push herself up over the edge, but the pressure from her weight kept causing the other side to rise off the ground. Before she realized what was happening, Misty had her arms wrapped around Scully's waist and was lifting her over the side.

Once she fell into the soft cushion of towels and blankets, Scully scurried to pull them up over her. She looked up to see Misty still standing there, eyes rolled upwards in thought. Scully tried to wave her away, but the girl did not move. Then Scully caught a glimpse of a head behind Misty, and realized it was April.

'_Aaaargggh,' _she thought. These girls were going to get her caught for sure. She waited, heart pounding, listening for the sound of footsteps. Misty leaned over the edge of the cart and, before Scully could figure out what she was doing, fell in. April moved up to the edge and peered in, staring at them, and then climbed in too.

Scully wasn't at all sure that this would work. She figured that whoever pushed the cart would notice the extra weight and get suspicious. But she made busy work of covering them all up with dirty clothes that smelled like yesterday's cafeteria. Scully stuck her hand into something wet, and wrinkled her nose.

April started to mumble something to herself. "Ssshhhhh…" said Scully.

Footsteps echoed, and Scully knew they had been found out. Someone lifted up the dirty towel over Scully's face, and her eyes grew wide as she saw Skippy staring wide-eyed back at her. After recovering from the initial shock of finding her there, he looked over his shoulder and back at her, and whispered, "You don't belong here, Miss Scully."

Scully smiled at him, and he covered her back up. "Damn, I'll probably get fired for this," he said quietly as he walked away. A few minutes later a heavier, clumpier set of footsteps came, and the cart moved, and nobody stopped to look inside. A door opened. A nipping frost penetrated her almost immediately. She shivered and listened for the door to close again, signaling that the laundry person had gone back inside for the second load.

The door clicked shut. Scully struggled to stand on one leg in the cushiony pile of clothes. Misty accidentally pushed her to the side and lumbered out. April followed. Misty took one of Scully's arms and looked at April expectantly. April stared back, expression vacant. "H-h-help me please," said Misty.

April slowly bent over and took Scully's other arm. Her grip was so limp that Scully wondered if she would be any help at all. But Misty made up the difference, and grunted as she heaved Scully up and out of the cart.

Scully sighed, but she knew they were not out of the woods yet. Far from it, she could see now, as she looked out into the blanket of snow that lightened the night sky and tried to see the fence. All she saw was white. But she knew in which direction she had to start heading, and she pointed a finger that way.

Misty put one arm around her and supported the majority of her weight. Scully reached out and grabbed a reluctant April and pulled the girl toward her until she could put her arm around April's shoulders. '_Here we go,_' she thought, fully expecting to hear the sound of voices yelling behind her any minute.

Part 2.

"Mulder—great news!" said Frohicke through the headset. "We got video feed showing our girl successfully getting into the laundry cart."

Mulder smiled. "Well, Hallelujah. When can I expect her?"

"The footage was from about a half hour ago, so it depends on how long it takes her."

"So any time now?"

"Probably not, if she was on her own. But she has company, Mulder."

Mulder stood up and stretched his aching legs. "What do you mean? Is someone following her?"

"No, I mean someone is coming with her."

Mulder scanned the horizon, but there was no way he would be able to see her until she was a few hundred feet away. If only he could shine his flashlight into the darkness like a beacon . . . but it would only put her in jeopardy. He would have to be patient and wait—something that was not a strength for him.


	17. Chapter 17

_**Author's comments: **__I am not so good with distances—I hope there are no mathematicians reading this. Here we go!_

**Skyscraper**

**Chapter Seventeen**

Part 1.

Snowflakes fell like ashes and rested on stray wisps of red hair. Scully blinked when the puffy flecks became tangled in her eyelashes, hindering her vision. She lifted her foot and hopped the best she could, but Misty was doing most of the work. Piles of snow dragged her back with every step. She struggled to breathe, feeling like she was trying to swim through mud.

Silently, they took one step at a time, moving forward like snails. She turned around, and despaired that they had only made it fifty feet or so. The only thing in their favor was the fact that nobody had emerged from the building yet. If they could make it another fifty feet, they would be lost from sight in the haze of the falling snow. Under other circumstances, Scully would be concerned about hourly bed checks, but Skippy was in charge of those, which might buy them more time.

At first, the snow burned when it touched her almost-bare feet. She was sure it was no picnic for her housemates, either, neither of who had on anything more than slip-ons. After they made it past those first agonizing minutes, her feet hurt almost as bad as her leg, which had gone numb. Pretty soon, though, it was hard to feel her feet at all, and she tried not to worry about losing any body parts to frostbite or gangrene after this was over. Especially if they were caught.

She took a few more hobbled steps, and then panted, "I need to stop." Her weary body was going to collapse if she didn't give it a break.

She didn't know how much longer these girls were going to make it. April was already sagging against Scully's weight, leaving Misty with the brunt of the load. Misty was a truck, but even the Hulk would have a hard time in these conditions.

"Let's go," she shouted over the howl of the echoing sky.

They continued on the same way, hopping for a few steps until Scully could go no further, and then stopping to rest. Scully looked back. Her face fell. Judging by the lights from the building, they had only made it twice as far as the last time she looked. At this rate, it would take them all night and part of the next morning to make it to the fence, which was still not visible.

Scully said, "I'm ready," and began to hop again. April crumpled into her, though, giving in to exhaustion. The procession of the slugs had ground to a halt.

Scully began to shiver uncontrollably. Without April's support, she was almost immobile. "This may be the end of the line," she said quietly, unsure whether either of them could even hear her over the wind.

Tears froze in Scully's eyes, and her heart froze as well. She decided to give it one last try, and heaved with every muscle against Misty's stalwart body. At that moment, Scully's last bit of energy drained away from her and into the universe. Every struggle she had experienced over the past few days, every ounce of abuse inflicted on her, every boulder of burden that had been dropped on top of her finally landed on her with full force, collapsing all her muscles at once and dragging her to the ground.

She prayed, for the first time in months. She prayed that the hypothermia would consume her before someone from the Baker Center tracked her down and dragged her back into that hellhole. God answered her prayers, but not in the way she expected. Misty, clothed only in pajama pants and a hoodie, stooped down next to her in the snow. Without a word, she turned around and hoisted Scully's feeble body up onto her shoulders and stood, like a wrestler getting ready to perform a power-slam.

All Scully could do was lie limply and watch through half-closed eyelids as Misty lumbered forward in a straight line. At least, Scully hoped it was a straight line. But she was not going to worry about that. She was done worrying, and with moving. Right now, she could only manage to lift her head on occasion to focus her gaze through the haze of wet flakes before them.

Part 2.

Mulder stamped his feet in the snow to keep the blood circulating. He could not imagine how Scully was going to make it all the way with nothing but house-shoes. But the important part was making it at all.

He had already scouted the area and found the hole, barely more than a depression in the ground. He would have missed it but for the dip in the snow line at that spot. He wanted to dig it out, get it ready, but he didn't dare before Frohicke gave the all clear.

So for now, all he could do was stand, and stomp. The seconds passed into minutes, which passed into one hour, then two. He was beginning to lose hope when the third hour passed. Surely she was captured, or worse, by now. Or maybe they drifted off in the wrong direction in the blizzard. "Anything from the feeds?" he asked into the headset.

"No," said Frohicke. "There's no movement in the place. As of a half-hour ago, they still did not discover she's missing."

"Well, you let me—"

A movement in the stirring white caught his attention. "Frohicke," he said, "I got something."

A figure contrasted faintly against the blustery background. The lumbering being was only about a hundred feet out, further down the fence line. Another shadow of a person appeared behind the first, and they were heading straight for the fence.

"I've got 'em," Mulder shouted as he bounded towards them. He couldn't let them wander into that fence. "Only two though," he said.

"Okay, Mulder, I hope she's with them. Just let me know when you're ready. In the meantime, nobody touch—"

"Yeah, yeah—I know." As he continued toward the women, he could see now that one of them had a hunch on her back. As he got closer, he saw that the hunch was another person, and from the size and the length of the hair it appeared to be Scully, draped over the girl's shoulders.

When he was about twenty feet away, they were almost to the fence. "Stop!" he shouted. "Don't touch the fence!"

Part 3.

Scully slept. She had no awareness of time passing. Aside from a periodic glimpse of pinkish-white on black through snow-covered lashes, she was unconscious of her surroundings. But a nagging ache woke her, and she could not will it away.

She gulped air into her parched throat, and gradually remembered why her face was covered with stinging cold. She struggled to lift her hand to her face and brush away enough of the cold wet flakes to see where they were. The world was upside-down to her, but she could see a dark partition reaching into the sky. '_The fence.'_

She closed her eyes again. Gathering her strength again, she said, "Don't touch the wall," as loud as she could manage. Misty kept going. "Don't touch it," said Scully, drawing a deeper breath to project her voice louder.

Misty took two more steps, and stopped. The fence loomed over them. Misty dropped Scully in a heap next to it, and stood waiting for instructions.

Scully lay unmoving in the snow. She heard a man's voice. From her spot on the ground, all she could see was three pairs of legs—two in sweatpants, and one longer set in Gore-tex pants and hiking boots.

Misty picked her up again, and they walked down the side of the fence for several more steps, and stopped. Misty plopped Scully onto the ground again. There was more talking. It was yelling, actually, but Scully could not hear what was said over the wind. A man squatted down next to the fence and started digging.

"Mulder," Scully whispered.

Misty began to dig too. April stood like a statue, but Scully did not mind. These girls were pillars to her, both of them.

Scully closed her eyes and forced her lungs to take deep breaths—shallow breathing was interfering with her ability to stay conscious. She felt Misty give her body one last heave, and she was being moved again. Misty set her down closer to the fence, and bent next to her to help shove her through.

Mulder's presence was large next to her, and only the wire barrier divided them. Mulder stuck his fingers through one link, trying to reach her. Scully brought her hand up to the fence, and touched his hand with hers. She felt the warmth of his bare fingers cover her hand and melt away the numbness. Skin on skin contact—she had forgotten how good it could feel.

Turning her attention to Misty, Scully pulled the girl's face close to hers and croaked, "You go first."

Misty did not move, and her eyes rolled skyward as she tried to process the words. Scully could not tell if she didn't understand, or if she was refusing the command, so she repeated, "You go."

Misty chose compliance, and turned toward the fence. A snippet of Mulder's voice reached her through the howling air. "No!" he said, but it was too late. Misty had gotten her head and one arm through the hole, which looked barely big enough to let through a dog, and she was digging furiously with her other arm to push her way through. Mulder let go of Scully's hand and grabbed hold of Misty, pulling with all his might.

With a mighty groan, Mulder tugged at Misty's body, but she would not move. She was stuck at the waist, and there was no going back, but she didn't appear to be able to move forward either. Misty wriggled for a while, legs flailing. Scully saw one foot disappear into the snow, digging into the ground, and then her rear was through.

After that, it didn't take long for her to crawl out the other side. Scully looked up at April, who was standing like a zombie, eyes wide, staring at the hole. "Go, April," shouted Scully, although she wasn't sure the girl could hear her.

April gawked for another minute. "Go!" Scully yelled.

To Scully's surprise, April turned her head and looked at the trail in the snow behind them. Now she turned around and began to tromp back the way they had come. "No!" Scully yelled, and watched helplessly as April trudged away.

Just before Scully lost sight of April, another figure stepped out of the whirling snow. Scully's mouth dropped open when the person bounded towards April and tackled her to the ground. The figure got up and started towards Scully, and she could tell the person was moving fast. Scully turned toward the fence, and her eyes locked with Mulder's. She cast one last glance at the approaching person, and could barely make out facial features now. It was the face of Ms. Snyder, bundled in a parka, wrinkles crowded together in a frown.


	18. Chapter 18

**Skyscraper**

**Chapter Eighteen**

Part 1.

Mulder had just caught his breath from hauling Scully's hefty roommate through the fence, and watched as her other roommate's attempt to go back was thwarted by a surprise guest. Getting on his knees to help Scully through the fence, his eyes locked with hers, and for a brief second they connected, ready to work together to save her life. She turned her head to look behind her one more time, and Mulder followed her gaze to see the person in the parka hurdling towards her.

"Mulder, you gotta hurry," Frohicke's frantic voice said. "It won't be much longer before they override our interruption in service."

"Scully's coming through now," Mulder said, reaching for Scully.

"Well you better get her through quick. If they get the electricity working, she's toast."

"I know, I know," he said, and then quit talking. He needed all his focus on Scully now.

She had rolled into the depression in the ground, and was flat on her belly. She began to feebly pull herself through the hole. Mulder couldn't get a grip under her arms at this angle, so he waited for her to emerge a little ways.

Scully's head went under the fence, her hair slicked to her head with the weight of melted snow. Mulder put his hand on her back and tried to reach underneath her arms, but she was wedged too tightly into the space. She writhed an inch at a time, her progress slow. Now her face looked up at him, mouth panting, face covered with mud, hair caked. She grimaced while her hands pushed against the hardened ground.

Finally, her shoulders emerged, and Mulder knew he had her now. He tugged while she pushed, eyebrows together in concentration, but every part of her was soaked, and the weight of her waterlogged robe made it harder for him to get her unplugged. The person in the parka reached her and plopped down behind her in the snow.

Scully let out one last, loud, "Uuunnnggghhh—"

He yanked while she pushed, and he felt a satisfying lightness as her waist came through. His arms snapped towards her, though, as he felt a sickening snag tighten his grip. He thought maybe her robe had become hooked on the bottom of the fence, but then he realized that she was being held by something else.

Part 2.

Scully saw only darkness as her head went into the dirt and under the fence. But light reflected from the snow was only a squirm away. She got her head through, and looked up to see Mulder leaning over her in anticipation. Scully's hands clawed at the ground as she gave one last mighty thrust, and her shoulders passed through the tiny hole. She felt Mulder's hands catch her under her armpits. Like catching a newborn baby, he wrestled her through the hole, and Scully let his strength take over where hers began to fail her. She cried out, and then she was loose, and her body began to slide neatly towards Mulder.

The easy glide halted, however, when something wrapped around her broken leg. Her voice filled her ears as she screamed in pain, and then she knew what was holding her—the social worker's hand grasped her as tight as a vice.

Mulder began to pull harder on her, his feet braced against the fence for support. "Come ON!" he roared. Scully felt like she was being wrenched apart.

"Aaaagghh," she cried, clenching her eyes tightly together. Ms. Snyder dug her fingers into Scully's skin, causing her to nearly pass out from the shooting pain. Mulder continued to play tug-of-war with her arms until he gave one last, final yank, and Scully's leg was free.

Now she slid easily into his arms, which he wasted no time wrapping around her. A zapping sound filled the air, and Scully looked back at the fence just in time to see Ms. Snyder fly backwards into the snow. "The fence," Mulder said into her ear. "It's back on."

She moved her feet away from the chain links, but she knew she was safe now. She closed her eyes as Mulder pulled her close to his chest and enfolded her with his arms. Curling up in his sheltering body, she knew now that she was safe—that he was not going to harm her, and he never had harmed her.

Part 3.

Mulder curled himself around Scully, wanting to shield her from the harsh world the way he couldn't before. '_I should never leave her alone again_,' he thought, even knowing that the idea was not possible. A realization hit him—that there may be other people chasing after her—and he picked her up in his arms and started off through the woods. Misty dutifully followed.

The trek to his car was treacherous, but nothing like the ordeal she must have gone through to get through the field next to the building. He plugged along until he got to his parking spot, and gently placed her in the front seat. Misty stood for a second, looking up, and then opened the back door and got in.

Mulder got in the driver's side, and Scully managed to pull herself up and lean against his waiting body. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and gave her one last gentle look. "Hang on," he said, and sped away. He kept looking in his rearview mirror, but he never saw any lights behind him. Finally, they reached a major highway, and he breathed a sigh of relief as his car blended in with others.

Scully had remained silent during the entire ride, and he was concerned about her. "Scully," he said softly. She did not answer, and that worried him more. "How are you holding up?"

Her raspy voice was barely audible, but she said, "I've had better days."

Pulling into the nearest rest station, Mulder parked the car so he could assess her condition. He had the heat on all the way, but she was still shivering. She sat up and looked at him through bleary eyes. The sun was beginning to come up, and in the dawn, he could see how pale she was, with a slight bluish tint to her lips. He rubbed her face vigorously to warm it. "How are your hands and feet?" he asked.

She did not answer, and instead stared at him through dazed eyes. Then she began to furiously take off her robe. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"I feel hot," she breathed, and started to take off her pajama bottoms. But she was still shivering.

Her words confused him, but he said, "Good idea—you'll warm up better without these wet clothes."

"No, I feel hot, Mulder. May be the effects of hypothermia." She stripped down to her underwear, and then curled up in a ball against Mulder. Her skin was like ice. He rubbed her with his hands to warm her up, and then took off his jacket to cover her with it.

He noticed that she had held one leg straight out, and then he saw that it was swollen, and a sickening green color. "What's wrong with your leg?" he asked.

"Broken," she whispered. "Not sure how many days now. I can't feel it, though. Can't feel much of anything, really."

She closed her eyes and trembled against him, and he held his arm around her after putting the car in reverse. "We've got to get you help, Scully." He kissed her head and stroked her hair, and they started onto the highway again, with Misty shivering in the back.


	19. Chapter 19

_**Author's comments: **__Oh geez I am so obsessed with this story. You know you're addicted when you lose sleep over it, lol. Thanks for all the wonderful reviews—they really drive me forward. I would write the story anyway—I have to, it's not a choice—but the comments keep me pumping it out quickly. Believe it or not, I do have a day job, and I even have a life, lol._

**Skyscraper**

**Chapter Nineteen**

Part 1.

Mulder looked in his rearview mirror and spotted Misty staring straight ahead, wide-eyed. The girl must be terrified right now. "You like music?" he asked, but she did not answer. He took his arm away from Scully long enough to turn on the radio, and Misty began to rock vigorously in her seat, and mumbling came out of her mouth that he recognized as her attempts to sing.

Mulder slipped his arm around Scully again. The longer he drove, though, the more limp she became, and he was afraid she was taking a turn for the worse. A few minutes before they reached the hospital, she stirred again and reached over to grab her robe. She fumbled through it until she found a pocket, and pulled out a piece of paper, limp and wet. She held it in her hand and admired it like a fine jewel. Then he recognized what it was—the picture of himself that he had smuggled in with her clothes. She closed her fist around it and wilted next to his body again.

Mulder pulled up to the ER and left Scully long enough to open the door for Misty. He was amazed at the strength of the girl—she emerged from the car and stood on her own, waiting for someone to direct her. Mulder opened Scully's door and pulled her from it, carrying her wafer-thin body out of it and in through the automatic doors. Misty followed.

Not caring who he offended, Mulder yelled out, "I've got two severe hypothermia victims here who need immediate attention."

People scurried, but they did not move fast enough for Mulder, and he shouted, "They need help NOW."

A gurney appeared before him, and Mulder set Scully down on it. A nurse brought a wheelchair for Misty, and began to talk to her in a soothing voice, asking questions. Mulder knew the girl needed someone to help answer questions, but right now he needed to stay with Scully. The nurse wheeled Misty away.

Mulder grabbed Scully's hand and held it while the hospital staff rolled her down the hallway. Her eyes were closed, but he noticed that she still had the picture curled up in her other hand. Nurses began to shout out orders. "I need an IV of warmed saline solution." "BP is dangerously low—let's get a humidified oxygen mask." "Prepare the defib, her heart rate is dropping."

Mulder gulped when he heard the words, but he had mixed feelings. He was terrified that he might lose her again, but elated that she was here, in the flesh, and out of that unreachable place. The nurses parked her in the hallway for a moment while they prepared her bed, and Mulder stroked her icy face with his hand. He would not have thought she could be any paler than she had been during her frightening bout with cancer.

Once she was in her room, nurses tried to shove him out of the way, but he was a boulder. "Sir, we need you to step aside now," one of them said in an annoyed tone.

"No, I'm not leaving her this time."

To Mulder's relief, nobody called security, and they worked around him as he stood by her side, her hand folded within his. They injected her with things and inserted things in her body, and periodically reported vital signs.

Mulder's heart quickened when she began to rouse. "Pulse is rising," said one nurse. A warm tingle spread through Mulder's chest, and he smiled at her even though her eyes were still closed.

"Mr. Mulder," said one nurse softly, "she's becoming more stable now. We're going to move her into ICU." He stayed by her side as if attached by an invisible rope.

Mulder's stomach lurched when they entered her new room and three men in suits were talking with man who was obviously a doctor. He closed his eyes and sighed, tightening his grip on Scully's hand.

One of the men turned toward Mulder. "Sir, please come with me."

"I'm not going anywhere," said Mulder.

"Mr. Mulder, you don't get to choose. Don't make this difficult."

Mulder braced himself at the words and swallowed hard. "You can't do this. She needs me here, to make sure nobody sends her back into that _place._"

The suit held his hands out at his side, preparing for the worst. "Mr. Mulder, you helped two people escape from a government facility. One person is dead. You think you can just get away with—"

Mulder's voice rose. "How can _they _get away with what they did? They tortured these women—"

"You don't have any proof of that, now do you?"

"—And left this woman with an untreated broken leg."

Nurses became agitated at the commotion, and tried to direct the men out of the room.

"I'm not leaving," Mulder said one final time. He knew what was coming next, and he let go of Scully's hand.

The suited man moved in on him, and Mulder got in a quick punch hard enough to force the guy two steps back. Another man came up from the side and grabbed the arm that Mulder had used to assault the first man. The third man rushed in and grabbed Mulder's other arm, and they struggled to hold him down. Adrenaline was pumping though, and Mulder wrestled with them until the three of them stumbled away from the bed and against the wall. The first man came back to help, and despite Mulder's best efforts, they grappled his arms down and threw a pair of handcuffs around his wrists.

Even though he knew it was a losing effort, he was not going to make this easy for them. He kicked his legs and threw his weight around, throwing them off balance, but never enough to make a break for it. "Scully," he said, casting one last glance in her direction as they hauled him out of the room.

Part 2.

Scully's heart pounded in her head. The first thing that caught her awareness was a slip of soggy paper in her hand. She opened her eyes, and light blurred her vision for several seconds. Her leg was heavy, and she realized that it was weighted down with a cast. She held the paper to her face and examined it. "Mulder," she whispered.

"Mulder's not here, Agent Scully," said a familiar voice, and a hand gripped hers. Skinner's worried face looked down at her, and she smiled.

"I've never been so glad to see you, Sir."

He smiled. "Oh, you have no idea how glad I am you're here." His face turned serious again. "Mulder would be here too, if he could. But the authorities look down on people who help mental patients escape."

"Sir, you have no idea—" she said weakly.

"Oh, I do," he said. "Mulder filled me in. But without proof, I'm afraid it looks bad to people on the outside. A woman got killed, Scully."

Scully frowned, and tried to withhold tears. "She was evil—"

"Ssshhh—don't worry about that now, Scully. You need to rest."

Scully pushed her head back against her pillow, and then a though occurred to her. "Sir, what's going to happen to Misty? And to me? If they consider us escapees—"

Skinner shook his head. "Let's not think about that right now."

Scully scrunched up her face, and the corners of her lips turned way down. "No, I want to know. Are they going to send us back?"

Skinner sighed, and Scully knew the terrifying answer to her question.


	20. Chapter 20

_**Author's comments: **__Not done yet! But I will be wrapping up soon. __ I will miss this story when it's over…_

**Skyscraper**

**Chapter Twenty**

Part 1.

After the FBI goons finished interrogating Mulder and released him, he went straight to the Lone Gunmen's hideout. Frohicke greeted him with a big hug and looked up at him. "Thanks for saving her, Buddy."

Mulder wished he could share in the cheer. "We're not done saving her yet," he said.

"What you mean?" asked Byers.

"They found out. They're sending her back."

Langly slammed his hand on the table. "Aw, man, we should have seen this coming," he said.

Mulder shook his head. "I just thought that once they found out how badly she was mistreated, there would at least be an investigation into the place. I should have known—there's nobody who can be trusted in this damn agency." He frowned with determination. "But that's why I'm here actually. We have to do something. Maybe we can sneak her out of the hospital—hide her somewhere."

"What if there's another way?" asked Byers. "What if we could provide them with enough proof to get an investigation going?" Mulder's eyes met Byer's, where the glint of a plan started to form.

Part 2.

Scully basked in the sun streaming in through her window, and watched as it reflected off the crystals of snow on the ledge outside. It was nice to be able to see the outdoors again. She tried not to remember that she might be cut off from it again soon.

Scully's doctor, a different one from the last time, came into her room all business. "Miss Scully, I've discussed your case with your medical team, and we've come to the conclusion that you need to finish your established course of treatment."

"I'm going back to the Baker Center," she said flatly, and sighed.

He looked at her with intimidating eyes. "It's what's best, yes."

"Best for who?" she said forcefully. "I don't even know who's on my treatment team. I haven't even met them. I was . . . I was subjected to unauthorized restraints similar to torture tactics used at Guantanamo. And you think that's _best _for me?"

The doctor did not flinch. "Given the fact that you tried to elope—"

"After my broken leg was left untreated for _three days_." She felt a flush in her cheeks as her voice rose.

The doctor's glare bore holes into her. "Miss Scully, your mental health history includes periods of delusions. Given that fact, we would be hard-pressed to believe the stories you've told."

Scully shook her head and tried hard not to cry, but tears began to roll down her face regardless. She couldn't believe that this was happening, and she felt helpless to do anything about it. "No," she said, almost whining. "I can't go back, I can't."

"I'm sorry, Miss Scully, but it's all in the works. You'll leave later this afternoon."

She put her hand to her face to squelch the flow of tears, and then wiped them away after failing to stop them. She sat and contemplated her situation for several minutes after the doctor left. She could not run—she had a cast on, and there was a guard outside her door twenty-four hours a day. She was being treated as a fugitive instead of the survivor of abusive practices at a rogue facility. If she went back, they would wipe out what was left of her mind and her spirit. She started thinking of ways to take drastic actions again, but she would have to make sure she got the job done if she tried.

Just as she began to ruminate about suicidal contingency plans, Skinner came into her room, all smiles. She tried to smile back, but she couldn't seem to force it. "How's my favorite mental patient?" he joked.

"Not funny, Sir. I'm going back today."

His smiled remained. "No, you're not. I've got someone here to see you."

She brightened a bit when she thought it must be Mulder. But as soon as the man stepped in the room, her mouth fell open. "Skippy?" she said.

Skippy moved sheepishly to the side of her bed, grinning. "Miss Scully, how are you feeling?"

"Better," she said in a hushed voice. Her eyebrows lowered. "What are you doing here? You didn't get in trouble for helping us escape?"

"No, Ma'am. I'm here to do something for you."

"For me?"

He nodded. "I can testify to what happened at that place. I saw things I should of never seen—things I just can't live with any more."

The gesture touched her deeply, but she doubted it would do any good. "You'll lose your job—"

He shook his head. "Don't you worry about that. What I really came here to tell you is that I'm sorry." She slid her bottom lip between her teeth, biting back tears. He continued, "I wish I could excuse what I did by saying that I was just afraid of being fired, but it should have never happened, regardless." His voice softened. "I'm so sorry for everything you went through. If I could take it all back, I would."

A smile came easily to her now, and she took his hand in hers. "Thank you," she whispered.

Just as Skippy began to leave, Mulder appeared at the door. He shot a beaming look at Scully, and then turned his attention to Skippy. Holding out his hand to shake Skippy's, he said, "There have been times when I've wanted to knock you out, but right now I just want to hug you. I'll settle for a handshake though."

Skippy gripped his hand and smiled, and cast one last wave to Scully before Skinner began to escort him out. Mulder smiled from ear to ear as he approached her. "You're looking so much better, Scully," he said, his voice light. "Like what I pulled off?" he asked, pointing towards the door at the disappearing Skippy.

"You did that?" she asked, eyes widening as she held out her hand for him to take.

He cradled her hand in his and said, "Yeah, me and the Lone Gunmen. And I think it's working. They could deny a mental patient's testimony that torture took place at the Baker Center, but when a former employee speaks it, combined with the video footage—"

"You guys have video?"

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Only from your room."

Scully looked away, unable to meet his gaze, knowing that he had seen her during the worst of her torment.

He sat down on the bed next to her and squeezed her hand. "It may not be enough for an investigation, I'm afraid. But it's enough to force them to transfer you to a different doctor, so that they can cover it all up."

Scully's eyes met his again. "Mulder," she said, crinkling her forehead.

"It's okay, Scully. I've found a psychiatrist willing to discharge you from involuntary confinement."

Tears gushed freely now, and she allowed them. "Mulder," she whispered. He put his hand on her cheek and used his thumb to wipe away a tear. Then he pushed a strand of her hair back behind her ear, and pulled her head to him. Accepting his embrace, she folded her head into his shoulder. His arms locked around her, and for the first time in weeks, she felt truly safe.


	21. Chapter 21

_**Author's comments: **__Whew. Is it hot in here, or is it just me?_

**Skyscraper**

**Chapter Twenty-one**

The smell of smoke from a distant fireplace caused Scully to close her eyes and inhale deeply. She sat in the wheelchair outside the hospital, savoring her freedom at long last. Mulder helped her into the car, and got into the driver's seat.

They drove in silence for a few minutes, but it was a comfortable silence. "Did you visit Misty's new facility yet?" Scully asked.

The corners of Mulder's lips curled upwards. "Yeah, it's really nice. There are lots of activities for her, and the staff seemed very friendly."

"Good. I asked some of my old contacts, and that was the place most of them recommended."

Mulder reached his hand over and scooped her dainty hand into it. Scully suppressed a smile as the touch sent chills through her. She could hardly contain her elation at being able to go home, to her own place, her own bed.

Outside her building, Mulder helped her out of the car and said, "Can you make it, Scully?"

The task seemed daunting, but she said, "It's okay, I can do it." He handed her the crutches, and she hobbled her way toward the elevator. The effort drained the breath out of her, though, and she stopped midway.

"If it's too much, I can carry you," Mulder said, his hand resting on her back.

"No. I'll be fine, Mulder," she said, and continued on.

On her floor, she felt proud of herself when she made it all the way to the apartment without stopping. But the euphoria she had felt earlier disappeared once she opened the door. She stood at the precipice, and forgotten images flooded her mind.

She closed her eyes, drowning in the sea of memories. Pictures of Mulder and Diana being intimate. Agent Spender reading crushing e-mails. A pill bottle and an empty liquor bottle sitting side-by-side on the kitchen counter. The despair that led her to swallow the deadly concoction.

"You okay, Scully?" Mulder said, waking her from her trance. His hand rubbed her back, his touch soothing.

'_I forgot,'_ she thought. '_And I need to forget again.'_

She decided to focus on his fingers instead, which began to massage a little deeper now. "Mmmm . . ." she said. "That feels good."

She opened her eyes. He smiled. "Let's get you comfortable," he said, walking next to her toward the couch.

He helped her adjust the cast-laden leg as she sat down, and plopped down next to her. Scully's mind wandered. "What is it, Scully?" Mulder asked.

Scully buried her hands between her knees and looked down at them. "I feel ashamed," she said, pursing her lips. "Mulder, I believed the most horrible things about you—I thought you were working with the smoking man, and Diana Fowley, and that you implanted that chip—"

Mulder picked up her hand and said, "Sssshhh . . . Scully, it's not your fault. The delusions were being fed to you through the chip in your neck."

She turned her face away from him. "Mulder, after all this time, after all your loyalty, I fell for the most unimaginable lies, that you had betrayed me all these years. I couldn't even trust you after everything you've done for me, and all that we've been through together—that's why I became so depressed." She glanced at him. "I thought everything that the partnership . . . the friendship, we've built together was all a lie, and it tore me apart."

Mulder squeezed her hand. "Scully, it's okay—"

She yanked her hand away from him. "No, it's not okay," she said with force. "I'm . . . I'm not the same as I was before."

Mulder leaned in closer. "What do you mean, Scully?"

She put her hand to her forehead and began to rub it. "The electroshock therapy—I lost large chunks of my memories." She looked up at him. "I didn't even remember who you were at first, Mulder."

He took a second to let the revelation sink in. "But you do now."

She shook her head. "You don't understand, Mulder. I didn't just get all of my memories back at once. There are still large pieces missing." She covered her mouth when the full weight of the realization began to hit her. "I even forgot that my sister was dead, Mulder." Her eyes became moist as they met his. "Is my mother still alive?"

Mulder's mouth opened, and then closed again. He slid closer to her, and wrapped his arms around the back of her head. "Yes, she's very much alive and well. We can call her if you want."

Scully began to cry, and leaned into him to fold her head neatly into the crook of his neck. "I don't know if I'll ever be the same again. My thoughts get jumbled, and sometimes I have a hard time getting them sorted out. And I don't know if I'll ever recover all my memories."

Mulder enfolded her with his arms, and stroked her shoulder with his hand. "How did you remember me?" he asked.

She thought for a second. "The picture—"

"Well, maybe we can go through old photo albums."

Scully pulled back and locked eyes with him. "Mulder," she said softly, "I was lost in that place. I had no idea you even existed, let alone where I was or what I was doing there. But when I saw you—your picture, I just knew you were on my side—that you cared for me." His eyes glistened at the words. "You kept me sane, Mulder."

"Funny, I almost lost my mind when you were in there," he said. "You were all I could think of, Scully, my only driving force."

They placed their hands on each other's heads, and their foreheads locked together. Scully traced his eyebrow with her thumb as she felt a familiar stirring within her. They both pulled their heads apart in unison and searched each other's souls through gleaming eyes. Without words, because words were no longer necessary, their faces moved together and lips touched tentatively.

The scary world that Scully had inhabited the last few days and weeks disappeared, as all her awareness became absorbed in that single yearning action—mouths pressed against one another, searching, probing. Tongues penetrated without boundaries, finding places that sent tingles down Scully's back and into her seat.

The touch of his fingers on her face only increased the desire, and she pressed her mouth harder against his. She let go long enough to mouth the word, "Mulder," and when she did, she felt his lips slide down to her neck and begin a journey of exploration that made her squirm.


	22. Chapter 22

_**Author's comments: **__Whoa. How do I make this go on forever? Is there a rehab for X-files-ite-is? _

**Skyscraper**

**Chapter Twenty-two**

Part 1.

Heaving, sighing, they abandoned all reservations and got swept away in the current of their passion. Time no longer existed for Scully—each moment bled into the next like an infinite flow of lava. The world outside their melded bodies stopped, and the two of them were all that existed.

Mulder tackled the edifice of her body with ease. Mouths touched necks, and nibbled on shoulders and low-hanging earlobes, and hands soon followed. Clothing became a nuisance, and before Scully could even doubt the wisdom of their recklessness, most of it had been discarded. But Scully did not care—she needed every inch of his skin pressed against hers as if there was no border of flesh between them.

It was not enough—it would never be enough until every frontier had been searched and infiltrated and discovered. And as the light disappeared and closed eyelids forgot the day, the un-encountered portions dwindled, until all that remained were the most sensitive.

When they were deepest in the frenzy, Scully managed to pull her thoughts together long enough to realize that Mulder was about to give her the ultimate gift. She had climbed the mountain and his hands and lips and skin would propel her over the peak, for what seemed like a lifetime, all condensed into one glorious stretch of contracting muscles and pulsating nerve endings. They experienced the same beautiful rush together, which made her feel bound to him from the inside out. For a few seconds, she forgot to breathe.

When temporal awareness began to fade back in, she sunk her body into his and panted, running her hands over his naked skin just to feel the warmth of it on her fingers. His hands cascaded over her back, which, combined with the gradual reduction of adrenaline, made her weary. Heaving one last sigh, she forgot everything and fell asleep in his arms.

Part 2.

Scully opened her eyes to discover an unclothed Mulder as her pillow. "Mulder, what did we do?" she mumbled. But when she looked up to see his reaction, she discovered that his eyes were still closed, chest heaving from a deep slumber.

They both knew the answer, of course. They had jumped from partners to friends to lovers all in one fell swoop. Scully guessed that her real question was, '_What happens now?'_

But did it really matter? Could they still go on working together, like nothing had ever happened? She knew there were no easy answers to the age-old conundrum.

Mulder stirred beneath her. His breathing transformed from slow, easy breaths to more jerky inhalations. "You awake?" he whispered, in case she wasn't.

She did not answer right away, and he began to stroke the back of her head. He startled when she said, "Yeah, I'm awake."

"You okay?" he said.

She thought carefully before answering. "Other than my foot, which has fallen asleep in a very awkward position from which I can't move it, yeah, I'm fine."

He shot a look down to her leg, which was turned sideways due to the weight of the cast. "Oh, my—" he said, sitting up to adjust it for her. He tugged on a throw that had been draped across the back of the couch and pulled it up over them, and then lay back down again. Her head found a comfortable spot on his shoulder once again. "You're—you're just . . . fine?"

She smiled. "More than fine. I'm very content right now."

"And you're okay with . . . with us?"

She pulled her head up and kissed him on the cheek. She spoke softly in his ear. "Yes, Mulder. I've been waiting a long time for this, and it's even better than I had hoped."

He kissed her forehead. "Me too, Scully." They lay quietly for some time, basking in each other's existence. Then he gave her arm a squeeze and said, "I have to go to the office, Scully. I'm supposed to meet with Skinner, and I'm already running a half-hour late."

She pushed on his body. "Go, Mulder. You better go."

"I don't want to leave—"

"You're already in trouble."

"You'll be fine?"

"Mulder."

Reluctantly, he let go of her and got out of bed.

Mulder left after getting dressed, reassured, but she had lied. She was not fine. Her vacant eyes stared out the window as she sat completely still, her mind the only thing in motion.

Her memories did not travel in a straight line anymore. Splinters of them mingled together, leaving her unsure how they all fit together. Monsters and disasters blended into one disturbing scene. In one image, men with mutilated faces shot flamethrowers of electricity, causing her naked body to convulse. Then lights lifted her into a waiting ship, where she was bound in stress positions until her bones snapped. She closed her eyes, but she was unable to shut out the vivid pictures. Unfamiliar men grabbed her and held her against her will, while snow piled up around her.

Scully knew that the pictures were jumbled, that somehow each piece belonged somewhere else. But each fragment really did happen, and not knowing how it happened was like reliving a nightmare over and over.

Scully let fat, wet drops fall down her face, and made a decision—she could never go through this horror again.


	23. Chapter 23

_**Author's comments: **__This is it, folks. Thanks to those of you who stuck with it to the very end. The endnotes are optional, but they may be of interest to some. _

**Skyscraper**

**Chapter Twenty-three**

Part 1.

Mulder tapped his foot and looked at his watch. "So you'll have that report for me tomorrow, right?" said Skinner.

"Right. Are we done now?" He stood to leave without waiting for an answer.

Before he could reach the door, Skinner's voice stopped him again. "Mulder."

Mulder threw his head back, his hand still frozen on the door. "Sir?" he said, trying to hide his irritation.

"How is she?"

Mulder softened his expression before turning to look at Skinner. "She's holding up, Sir. I think she'll be okay."

Skinner smiled, and Mulder continued out the door. As he drove home, however, he questioned his own statement. He remembered what she said about not feeling like herself, with the jumbled memories and the mental confusion. And he remembered the sorrow in her eyes, the downturned lines around the edges of them.

He stepped on the accelerator and sped around traffic even faster than usual, feeling the pull of anxiety at leaving her alone. After the last time they had parted . . . he tried to block the thoughts from his mind. But events like this had a way of making a person hyper-vigilant, even if the fear of repetition was irrational. Logical thinking was her forte—he relied more on instincts, and his were screwed up from being caught off guard too many times lately.

All the more reason to ignore the goose bumps he got as he approached her apartment. '_It's okay, she's fine,' _he reminded himself. His body was reacting, the way an accident victim became jittery when getting into a car again.

He knew it, but it didn't stop his palms from getting sweaty as he pulled the key out of his pocket. The sense of deju vu strengthened after he opened the door and she was nowhere in sight. "Scully?" he asked. The silence sickened him.

His steps quickened as he approached the bedroom, as if every second might count. A lump rose in his throat just before he entered the darkened room. He closed his eyes for a second, and then opened them to accept whatever awaited him.

"Scully?" he said. She was sitting on the floor of the bedroom, her back to him. "Thank God, I was a little—"

His steps halted as he spotted red splotches staining the carpet. A quick scan of the situation caused his heart to jump into his throat. "Scully," he said, his voice betraying the panic he felt.

She did not turn her head, which she had lowered. Now he saw that the blood was coming from her neck. He reached her and saw the flash of a scalpel in her hand, and his breath started coming in short, shallow bursts. "Scully, what did you do?"

He kneeled next to her. Her eyes were open, staring straight ahead. Jumping into emergency mode, he began to touch her neck and examine her throat at the same time, trying to find the wound. If she had slashed an artery, he would have to work fast to apply pressure so that she wouldn't bleed out.

But he couldn't find anything. And then he realized—he had seen the blood from the back. His fingers and eyes probed the back of her neck, and sure enough, there was a pool of blood beginning to cake around an open wound. "Oh my God, Scully, what did you do?"

He ran into the bathroom and wet down a rag. When he returned and began to apply pressure to what looked like a series of small incisions, she said softly, "I had to."

The sound of her voice surprised him after the trance-like state from which she had emerged. "What, Scully?" He held the washrag against her neck and sat on his knees so that he could see her face.

Her eyes glazed over as she continued to look straight ahead, and she held her hand—the one that was not holding the scalpel—palm up. All he saw was blood, and at first he thought maybe she had cut her hand as well. He took the bloody palm in his and touched it lightly with his fingers, examining it for cuts. Instead, he saw something black, a little bigger than a speck, floating in the red liquid. He touched it with his finger. It was hard. His brain made connections.

"The chip—Scully, you removed the chip. Why? The cancer—"

She looked down and away. "I had to make a choice, Mulder." Her eyes lifted to meet his, the weight of her decision evident within them. "It was either the cancer, or risk going through the same ordeal I just came through. Mulder, I can't go through it again, I can't. It would destroy me—"

He used the hand that held the back of her neck to pull her to him, and he felt her head fall into place on his shoulder. Nobody should have to make such a terrifying decision, and he showed her he understood by the strength of his embrace. Her tears soaked through his shirt to his shoulder. He ran his fingers down her hair and to her cheek to brush them away.

He kissed her on the forehead. "I'm so sorry, Scully," he said. Words were never enough, but maybe he could give her the support she needed, be her scaffolding, with his touch.

She held her head up to see his face. Her lips turned down at the corners, but adoration filled her eyes. "Mulder," she said tenderly. "You are everything to me. Without you, I wouldn't be able to face the uncertainty ahead." She paused, her next words spoken with trepidation. "I love you so much."

Mulder's heart raced, and he closed his eyes to absorb the impact of the words. He opened them again so that he could search for eternity in her eyes. "And I love you, Scully."

They sealed the mutual proclamation with a kiss, one that melted his lips and his heart, but it wasn't necessary. Forever was in those words, and no matter what happened from now on, he knew that he had her inside him—a treasured possession that he would never lose.

Part 2.

Three words resonated over and over again in Scully's mind and melted the icy angst that had gripped her heart. Her skin tingled as his fingers delicately stroked her hair. His touch could not erase the torment she had gone through, but she could begin to rebuild her life from the ground up with his support.

He untangled his hand from her hair and turned off the car. While helping her out, he said, "She'll be thrilled to see you."

He handed her the crutches, and she skillfully used them to limp to the door. "I'm probably as excited to see her," said Scully. Mulder opened the door for her, and let one more person through.

Scully could not have paid to see a more rewarding reaction when Misty realized it was Scully who was coming through her door. "Dana!" she shrieked, and ran to her.

"Misty, how are you girlfriend?" said Scully. She handed Mulder the crutches and reached over to embrace her.

"I'm fantastic, girlfriend," said Misty. "I miss seeing your pretty face."

Scully backed away so she could get a good look at Misty. "You look good, girl." Misty beamed. "I'm amazed at how wonderful you've done."

Scully wanted to tell her how much it meant to her that Misty had saved her life, how strong she was for making it all the way with Scully draped across her back, how the girl was a rock to her. But her psychologist had advised Scully to keep the discussion on the present, that Misty did not have the ability to process traumatic events, and she didn't need any reminders of the ordeal she had survived.

So instead, Scully said, "I have someone else here to see you."

"Oooh?" Misty said, her eyes rolling upwards toward the ceiling in contemplation.

Mulder went to the door and waved, and April took several stiff steps into the room. "April!" Misty said.

April leaned on Mulder as she walked, and said in a flat tone, "Hello." Scully felt a twinge of guilt at seeing the girl struggling to walk—unlike Misty and Scully, frostbite had claimed several of her toes. But she had been transferred from the Baker Center to a different facility, and staff there had said she was doing well, which eased Scully's mind.

As Scully listened to Misty talk about the things she did throughout the day, she felt a sense of lightness enter her where once there had been only dark. In this moment, anyway, she could leave the past behind, just like Misty, and enjoy the company of three people who had won a place in her heart.

Part 3.

Light beamed down from above, and Scully's mouth fell open in awe as her eyes rolled back. Mulder's skin on her skin sparked nerve endings she never knew she had. She had felt that their relationship would end up here, but she would have never guessed that full contact with his flesh would propel her straight to heaven.

As they came down from the high, Scully snuggled into him and inhaled the smell of him. Absorbing the feel of his fingers that stimulated her still-heightened senses, she gazed out the window through love-hazed eyes.

Memories of deformed men and lonely, pain-filled dark places tried to crowd Scully's mind, and she allowed Mulder's touch to chase them away. Her thoughts started to turn to the frightening potential of cancer returning, but she forced her attention back to Mulder's body pressed up against her. No painful, angst-ridden thoughts were going to be allowed to penetrate her bliss—Mulder shielded her from them. As she watched the snow pile up outside the window, she thought, '_Every day's a new day, I guess._'

**The End**

_**Endnotes: **__With Scully's cancer still an open question, I sense a sequel coming on. But not for a little while, though—I have other writing projects that I have neglected due to my addiction. _

_ While I was conducting research for this story, I discovered a horrifying truth—ECT, aka electroshock therapy, is still in use all over the world. I knew this already—I talked to someone fifteen years ago who underwent it for depression. What I didn't know is that the side effects are very much like what Scully experienced in the story. Granted, the practice is rarely used without informed consent by the patient (at least in the U.S., although it is administered occasionally without consent for "compelling" reasons), and it is usually given with anesthesia and muscle relaxers to reduce the chances of bones breaking (although exceptions exist to this too). But many people who undergo ECT come out of it with memories missing, jumbled thoughts, and lives changed. _

_ I haven't decided if I'm against this draconian practice in ALL cases—some people are relieved to be rid of their severe depression despite the side effects. But I do think caution needs to be taken. I read way too many accounts of good, intelligent people who, after undergoing treatment, could no longer function at their jobs and had to go on disability. We're talking lawyers, engineers, business people. People who could no longer perform their jobs because they lost so many IQ points that they couldn't process their thoughts at the level they did before. My hope is that ECT will become disfavored soon, and other treatments will replace it._

_ One last thing—I wrote this story in dedication to the people in my life with autism, who have affected my life in ways I could not have anticipated. The biggest lesson I have taken away from my experiences with them is this: if someone with so many disadvantages in life can not only make it through the tough times, but have a quality life and make a lasting impact on the people around them, then what the hell am I complaining about? Lol. Seriously, I love them, and I hope I can have just as positive an effect on them as they have made on me._

_ That's all! Thanks for reading._


End file.
